by trial of fire
by NatrissaBelladonis
Summary: fire cleanses, but it also burns. moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts will be one of her most memorable yet, not only for her, but for her friends too: triwizard tournaments, strange dreams... it's a trial of fire, and she's on the stand. Harry/OC
1. prologue

**disclaimer**: mine, actually. well, moira, her family and all future oc's belong to me. harry potter belongs to the wonderful j.k.r  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to…i dunno, whoever wants to have it dedicated to them  
><strong>notes<strong>: so, here is my first take on a harry potter story: yes, with an oc, but she isn't a mary-sue…i hope….

**title**: by trial of fire  
><strong>summary<strong>: its moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts, and with the rising threat of voldemort, the triwizard tournament and her strange dreams, this year's bound to be a doozy. Harry/OC

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**prologue **

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'Hey, can I sit here? There's no room anywhere else.'

Harry and Ron looked up from their seats at the doorway, where a young girl around their age stood, her trunk and owl-cage just visible beyond the edge of the door. She had her arms crossed over her chest and a medium sized, rather fluffy gray, brown and black owl perched on her shoulder. The owl hooted cheerfully and blinked wide, shiny black eyes at the two boys.

Ron recovered first. 'Ah, sure, go ahead.'

While Harry cleared off a space for her to sit, the girl occupied herself with hauling her trunk into the compartment and, with Ron's help, shoved it into the luggage rack. After thanking Ron for his help, the girl flopped back into the seat and smiled. 'So, my fellow compartment mates, I believe introductions are in order.'

Ron and Harry looked at each other; Harry ended up speaking for the both of them. 'I'm Harry Potter, and this is Ron Weasley.'

'Nice to meet you,' she said in a pleasant Scottish accent, not even fazed by Harry's name. 'I'm Moira O'Shea – you can call me Mo- and this,' she guestured to the fluffy owl on her shoulder, 'Is Jareth. Ooh, can I have a chocolate frog?'

'Jareth?' said Ron as she attacked the sweets pile and dug out two cauldron cakes and several chocolate frogs. 'What kind of a name is that for an owl?'

'Well,' said Mo through a mouthful of cauldron cake, 'I named him after a character in my favourite movie – my favourite character too, coincidentally. He looked so much like the owl form of the character that I couldn't resist.'

Ron looked confused, so Harry spoke. 'What movie?'

'The Labyrinth.' She replied, inspecting her chocolate frog card as the candy tried to hop to freedom. 'You know, with David Bowie?'

Her jaw dropped at Harry and Ron's confounded looks. 'Dance Magic Dance? The Goblin King? You have no power over me?' Her horror seemed to grow as their looks of confusion deepened. 'Oh lord; I've stumbled onto a bunch of pure-bloods haven't I?'

'Well, I'm a pure-blood,' said Ron, 'but Harry was raised by Muggles. I really don't see how our blood status is important, though.'

'And you haven't seen the Labyrinth?' she demanded. When Harry shook his head, she moaned pathetically and tossed a chocolate frog at his head. 'For shame, Harry, for shame; I can't believe you, a wizard raised by Muggles, haven't seen that amazing movie!'

Poor Ron just looked painfully bemused now. 'What's so important about this movie?' he asked.

'It is only the best thing ever invented since Star Wars!' she cried enthusiastically. 'That's it, this summer, both of you are coming over to my house and we are watching the Labyrinth, yeah?'

'But, we just met you,' Ron protested. 'How do you know we'll still be friends at the end of the year?'

She blinked at him. 'Well, won't we?'

'Well, yes, I guess…' Ron muttered, and Mo beamed.

'There you have it then. This summer, both of you, my house and the best movie ever made. Deal?'

She stuck her hands out and Harry and Ron, grinning, each took one hand and shook it firmly. Leaning back in her seat, Mo smiled.

'I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, mates.'

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The station was crowded with kids ranging from eleven to possibly eighteen, all dressed in black robes and all talking very, very loudly. Harry and Ron pushed there way through the throng towards Hagrid, who was shouting for the first years over the babble of the crowd.

The giant grinned upon spotting Harry, his black eyes crinkling. 'All right there Harry?'

'I'm fine Hagrid,' said Harry.

Hagrid's hairy face beamed at him over the crowd.

'C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Firs' years, follow me! Mind yer step now!'

Slipping and sliding everywhere, they followed the groundskeeper down what appeared to be a very steep, narrow path. It was extremely dark on either side, and Harry figured they were walking through a patch of forest. None of them spoke much, which probably explained why Harry and Ron jumped a foot in the air when Mo appeared at Harry's elbow; Jareth still perched on her shoulder.

'This is so cool!' she whispered, nearly vibrating from excitement; Harry agreed whole-heartedly.

'Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec,' Hagrid called over his shoulder, the lantern swinging in his hand, 'jus' round this bend here.'

They rounded the corner; a loud 'Ooooh' echoed from the first years as the path opened up on the edge of a big, black lake. Perched atop the cliffs on the opposite shore was the biggest castle Harry had ever seen, with many towers and turrets reaching into the sky.

Hagrid pointed to a fleet of boats bobbing on the shore. 'No more'n four to a boat!' he called.

Harry, Ron and Mo were followed into their boat by Hermione, a girl they had met on the train. Neville, the boy who'd lost his toad, was in a boat with a sandy-haired boy, a girl with her blonde hair in two braids and an African-American boy.

Hagrid settled himself in the lead boat, which sunk dangerously low in the water. 'Everyone in? Right then – FORWARD!'

At his command, the little fleet of boats began moving smoothly over the lake, which appeared to be as smooth as glass. No one spoke as they approached the castle, not even Mo, whose eyes were almost as wide as her owl Jareth's. Harry's jaw fell as they came closer and closer to the castle, which towered overhead. It was even bigger than he had first thought.

'Head down!' yelled Hagrid as they approached reached the cliff; they all bent their heads as the boats carried them through a tunnel in the cliff-face, which was hidden by some ivy. Harry figured they were travelling straight under the castle, which eventually opened up into some kind of underground harbour, where they all scrambled out onto the rocks and pebbles.

'Oi, you there! Is this your toad?' Hagrid asked as he turned from inspecting the boats. A toad was grasped in one large hand, and Neville's boyish face beamed.

'Trevor!' the boy said blissfully, taking the toad from Hagrid.

They then clambered up a passage in the rocks after Hagrid's lamp, finally emerging onto the wet, smooth grass of the grounds, right in the shadow of the castle. Walking up a flight of stone steps, they gathered around Hagrid as he looked over their heads.

'Everyone here? You there, you still got yer toad?'

After making sure everyone was accounted for, Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked on the door three times.

Immediately, the door swung open, revealing a stern-looking witch with black hair pulled tightly into a bun and emerald green robes. Harry and Mo shared a look. 'She's not someone I want to cross,' Mo whispered.

'The firs' years, Professor McGonagall,' said Hagrid.

'Thank you, Hagrid,' said McGonagall, her voice heavy with a Scottish brogue. 'I'll take them from here.'

'Oh my god, she's Scottish!' Mo squealed in Harry's ear. 'Like me! Wicked!'

The doors opened wide, revealing an entrance hall so big it could have fit four of the Dursley's houses, easily. The ceiling was too high to make out, with a set of huge marble steps leading to the upper floors.

Harry heard the drone of voices from a door on his right as McGonagall led the first years to a small chamber off the hall. They all crowded together, looking about nervously. Mo was grinning like an idiot, looking at everything at once.

'Welcome to Hogwarts,' McGonagall started briskly. 'The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your house. There are four houses at Hogwarts: they are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards.'

She fixed her stern gaze on each of them. 'While you are here, your house will be like your family. You will eat with your house, attend classes with your house and, if you choose to, spend your free time in your house common room. Any triumphs will earn you points, while rule-breaking will cause you to lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the house cup, a prestigious honour.'

'The sorting ceremony will take place in a few moments in front of the school. I suggest you smarten yourselves up while you're waiting.'

Her eyes travelled from Ron's smudged nose to Neville's cloak, which was clasped under his ear. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair, while Mo sent Jareth off to wherever the owls go and brushed feathers off her robes.

'How do you suppose they sort us?' Harry asked.

'Dunno, some sort of test I think. Fred said it hurt a lot, but I think he was joking,' said Ron.

Harry swallowed. Moira laughed. 'We're first years Ron, and some of us are Muggleborn,' she pointed out. 'I doubt they'll make us do anything bad, or hurt us. Besides, from what I remember, I think we just try on a hat.'

Ron looked relieved, and opened his mouth to speak when several people screamed, causing him, Harry and Mo to jump about a foot in the air. Behind them, about twenty pearly white figures were floating through the walls, completely ignoring the first years. They seemed to be arguing about something; a fat little monk was saying, 'Forgive and forget, I say. We ought to give him a second chance –'

'My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves enough chances? He's not really a ghost, you know, and he gives us all a bad – I say, what are you all doing here?'

A ghost wearing a ruff pulled high on his neck and tights suddenly noticed them. No one answered him, but the Friar smiled at them all. 'New students! I hope I see some of you in Hufflepuff; my old house you know.'

At that moment, McGonagall chose to return. 'Move along,' she said sharply, watching as each ghost floated through the wall and out of sight. 'The ceremony is about to begin,' she told them, 'Form a single line and follow me.'

They all filed into line; Harry ended up behind Mo, with Ron behind him. They quietly followed McGonagall out of the room and through a huge set of double doors into the hall. Harry's first thought was that the hall was beautiful. A thousand floating candles illuminated the starry sky, and although Harry heard Hermione whispering how it was simply bewitched to look like the sky outside, it was really hard to believe the hall just didn't open to the heavens.

Hundreds of faces looked at them from four long tables, and Harry fought the urge to squirm nervously. They gathered at the front of the hall, in front of a long table where the teachers sat. McGonagall had placed a rickety wooden stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she placed an old, frayed hat.

The entire hall stared at the hat, waiting. After a moment, its brim opened wide and it began to sing a tale about the four founders of Hogwarts and the tale that brought them to this. As it finished its song, the entire hall burst into applause, falling silent again as McGonagall unfurled a scroll.

'When I call your name,' she said, her voice ringing around the hall, 'You will come forth. I will place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.'

She looked at her scroll. 'Abbott, Hannah!'

The girl with blonde braids stumbled out of line and sat on the stool; the hat fell right over her eyes. There was a moment's pause –

'HUFFLEPUFF!' yelled the hat.

The table on the far right cheered and clapped as Hannah went over and sat down. Harry saw the Fat Friar wave merrily at her.

'Bones, Susan.'

'HUFFLEPUFF!' the hat yelled again, and Susan scurried off to sit next to Hannah.

'Boot, Terry!'

'RAVENCLAW!'

This time, the table second from the left clapped; several of them shook Terry's hand as he sat down.

'Brocklehurst, Mandy' went to Ravenclaw too, while 'Brown, Lavender' became the first Gryffindor, causing the table on the far left to explode into cheers. Fred and George, Ron's twin brothers, were catcalling.

'Bulstrode, Millicent' became a Slytherin, and sat at the last remaining table, second from the right. It might have been Harry's imagination, but he thought they looked like an unpleasant lot.

He glanced over at Mo, who was once again shining with excitement. She glanced at Harry and flashed him a smile. Her happiness was infectious, and he felt some of his anxiety leave as he turned back to the sorting.

'Finch-Fletchley, Justin!'

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the name at once, while others, like 'Finnigan, Seamus', who was on the stool for a full minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor, took longer.

'Granger, Hermione!'

Hermione practically ran to the stool and jammed the hat on her head. It only took a few moments for the hat to yell, 'GRYFFINDOR!'

Ron groaned, making Mo elbow him sharply in the side. He winced, rubbing the sore spot and glaring at her. 'I don't want to be in the same house as her!' he whispered fiercely. Mo just glared at him and told him to shut up.

Neville was up next. He sat on the stool for a little until it declared him a Gryffindor. He was so eager to go sit down that he forgot to take off the hat and, amongst gales of laughter, ran back to hand it to 'MacDougal, Morag'.

'Malfoy, Draco!'

Malfoy swaggered up to the stool arrogantly, and Harry grinned as Mo booed softly from beside him, her eyes narrowed. The hat had barely touched his head before it shouted, 'SLYTHERIN!'

Malfoy sauntered off to sit with Crabbe and Goyle and Mo sighed in relief. 'At least you and I know we won't get into his house,' she murmured.

The numbers slowly dwindled down. There were two more M's…then a 'Moon' … 'Nott' … and finally –

'O'Shea, Moira!'

Mo practically bounced to the stool, flashing a grin at Harry as the hat fell over her eyes. It was dark inside the hat, and she nearly jumped as a voice whispered in her ear.

'Oh yes, what a fine mind you have. Plenty of courage, loyalty … such a thirst for knowledge, much like your mother …'

'My mother?' Mo replied tentatively. 'My mother's a Muggle. Irish, and completely brilliant, but Muggle.'

'Not that mother, your real mother, oh, she was just like you, a fiery Scots girl in the middle of proper Britain,' the hat said softly. 'Oh, ambitious are we? But you wouldn't do well in Slytherin, too hot-headed for them. You would do well in Hufflepuff; Ravenclaw too. Your intelligence rivals that of your mother, but your loyalty…that is your father in you. However, I don't think they quite suit you; you are fair, but your stubbornness tends to get in the way of judgement, and you seem to like to leap before you look… ah, just like your father I see; you'll do great things, Miss O'Shea, just like him. Good luck in – GRYFFINDOR!'

The last part was shouted into the hall and Mo blinked as spots dotted her vision after so long in complete darkness. Heading over to the table, she slid into a seat next to Seamus and flashed Harry and Ron thumbs up.

There were hardly any left now. 'Parkinson' … 'Patil' and 'Patil' … 'Perks, Sally-Anne' … and then finally –

'Potter, Harry!'

Whispers broke out at his name as Harry stepped forwards nervously. Turning, his last vision was of hundreds of eyes staring up at him before the hat fell over his eyes. For a moment, all was silent, and Harry started to panic. What if he wasn't sorted? Would they send him home?

A voice in his ear nearly made him jump off the stool. 'Hmm…' said the voice, 'Difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage I see, not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh yes, and such a thirst to prove yourself… very interesting. So where shall I put you.'

'Not Slytherin!' he thought with all his might, and he heard the hat chuckle.

'Not Slytherin, eh? Oh, you could be great you know; Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt. Well, I do suppose you would do great things no matter what house I put you in … well if you're sure, it'd better be – GRYFFINDOR!'

The gold and red table burst into applause and Harry let a grin spread across his face as McGonagall removed the hat and allowed him to head towards his new housemates. Several people shook his hand as he headed for Moira and sat down on her other side. He could dimly hear the Weasley Twins shouting, 'We got Potter! We got Potter!'

'Nice one Harry,' she whispered as the clapping died down. 'I knew you'd be a Gryffindor.'

'You didn't even know what Gryffindor was until ten minutes ago.' He replied, amused.

She huffed. 'Well, whatever. Oh look, Ron is getting sorted!'

Harry turned and had to stifle a laugh. Poor Ron looked rather green around the gills as he sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head. Harry and Mo crossed their fingers, and a second later the hat shouted, 'GRYFFINDOR!'

Ron practically threw the hat off his head and slumped in a seat next to Harry, ignoring his brother Percy's pompous, 'Well done, Ron.'

The last boy, 'Zabini, Blaise' was sorted into Slytherin. McGonagall took away the stool and hat as Albus Dumbledore got to his feet, smiling at them and opening his arms wide, as if to sweep them all into a hug.

'Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts!' he said. 'Before we start the feast, I would like to say a few words. They are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!'

'Thank you!' he sat down and Harry looked at Mo in surprise.

'Is he mad?' he asked tentatively.

'Mad?' said Percy airily. 'He's a genius! But, I suppose all geniuses are a bit mad. Potatoes, Harry?'

Harry's jaw dropped as he looked at the gleaming gold dishes, previously empty, and now piled high with food. Mo had a similar look of astonishment on her, while Ron was simply piling a little of everything onto his plate. Mo and Harry quickly followed his example and tucked in.

A thought struck Harry and he swallowed a forkful of mashed potatoes before turning to Mo, who was pouring gravy on her roast beef. 'Wait a – Mo, aren't you a Muggle-born?'

'Yeah. What of it?'

'Well,' said Harry slowly, 'If you're a Muggle-born, how did you know what a chocolate frog was? Or how we'd get sorted? I thought only people who grew up in the magical world knew those things.'

She chewed thoughtfully at a piece of roast beef for a moment before answering. 'When I got my letter, my parents, naturally, didn't believe that magic existed. So, the school sent Professor Sprout over to my house to explain it all to my parents and take me shopping.'

A dreamy expression crossed her face as she smiled wickedly. 'You should have seen their faces when Professor Sprout levitated them, the couch and the lamps two feet off the ground. I thought they were going to have a heart-attack! Anyways, after that, Professor Sprout took me shopping and explained some things about the wizarding world. She explained the four houses to me, and explained the sorting too, when I asked about it. She also gave me the book **Hogwarts: a History** to read. It explained everything else. Good book, really.'

Ron, who'd been listening onto their conversation, spoke around a spoon of peas. 'How'd you buy all your things? Do they have a trust fund for Muggle-born students or something?'

Mo frowned. 'I dunno. Professor Sprout just said my schooling had been taken care of, but I don't think my parents know any witches or wizards.'

Shrugging, she dug into her food again, and was soon smiling and joking with Seamus and Dean, the African-American boy she had met on the train, before she stumbled on Harry and Ron. Throughout the whole meal, she couldn't shake the words the sorting hat had whispered in her ears.

'…_like your father … like your father … great things like him … a thirst for knowledge like your mother …a fiery Scots girl stuck in proper Britain…'_

She had thought her accent had come from living in Scotland until she was seven, and her stubbornness and unwillingness to give up the accent when she travelled with her parents.

If her parents weren't Jack and Melissa O'Shea, Irish and two of the top biologists in the world, then…who were?

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**notes:** well, there's the prologue. i just wanted to introduce mo's character here, and the sort of mystery around her birth and up-bringing. i might go back and write books one and two and three later, but right now i want to focus on the fourth book. it's my favourite after all. *wink* and please review…she doesn't seem like a mary-sue, right? i did the **mary-sue litmus test** and she came out with a six, which is the thesis of an anti-sue according to the results, but i want to know what you think.

so, enjoy!

**edited: 30/07/12**


	2. arrival at the weasleys

**disclaimer**: mine, actually. well, moira, her family and all future oc's belong to me. harry potter belongs to the wonderful j.k.r  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to…i dunno, whoever wants to have it dedicated to them  
><strong>notes<strong>: none. enjoy the story.

**title**: by trial of fire  
><strong>summary<strong>: its moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts, and with the rising threat of voldemort, the triwizard tournament and her strange dreams, this year's bound to be a doozy. Harry/OC

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**chapter one  
>summer with the weasleys <strong>

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_This was, without a doubt, the worst storm she had ever seen._

_The sky was completely black with clouds, illuminated every few moments by jagged forks of lightning. Thunder roared in her ears, and strong winds whipped at her clothes and hair, fairly blinding her from its intensity._

_Rain came down in sheets, blowing almost sideways from the wind. She was completely soaked from head to foot, as if she'd just jumped into the sea. Although, one look at the dark grey, heaving mass of water made her glad she was anchored firmly to very soggy land._

_She was standing on a little beach, with a dark forest behind her, made up of the biggest, oldest-looking trees she had ever seen. Across the water, she could dimly make out the shape of a city skyline whenever the lightning crackled through the clouds. She had no idea where she was, but a feeling deep in her gut told her it definitely wasn't anywhere in Europe._

_A roar shook the land and she whirled around, wiping rainwater and wet hair out of her eyes as she peered through the storm. Three animals were fighting in the surf: an eagle, a horse and a snake. The snake was pitch black with angry red markings and glowing red eyes. It hissed and snapped at the eagle, which dove again and again, claws outstretched and beak open to kill._

_The horse was rushing the snake and dancing out of the way before it could strike, confusing it and giving time for the eagle to attack. The horse kicked the snake with its hooves and cried out when part of the snake's body – the size of a tree trunk – came around and hit the horse in the chest._

_It was an amazing, yet terrifying sight to behold, and the fact that each animal was about the size of an elephant just enforced that factor. The earth shook with the force of the horse's hooves; the snake's scream sent chills up her spine as the eagle raked its claws down the snake's back._

_The snake turned on the horse now, ignoring the eagles increasingly frantic dive-bombs as it advanced in the shallow surf, pushing the horse back into the water. The horse let out a terrified whinny as a wave knocked its hooves out from underneath it._

_Rising up, the snake unhinged its jaws and prepared to lunge on the snake when the thud of a rock on its head froze. The snake turned, staring at her with malevolent red eyes and she cursed and stumbled backwards when it started advancing on her. She hadn't thought of that when she's thrown the rock. She's only been thinking about getting the snake away from the horse._

_Hissing, the snake narrowed its eyes at her and opened its mouth wide enough to swallow her whole. Rows upon rows of thin, deadly fangs glinted at her in the lightning, and she screamed as those jaws descended on her._

_There was a thud and a loud hiss over the noise of the storm, but before she could open her eyes, cold, scaly claws wrapped around her and ripped her from the ground and into the sky. She opened her eyes and flinched violently at the view. She was flying hundreds of feet over the ocean, dangling in the grip of an extremely large bird._

_She glanced up and gasped in a mixture of awe and fear. The bird holding her wasn't the eagle she had seen fighting earlier. It was larger and thinner, with streamlined black wings edged in silver and a white face. The bird looked down at her with mismatched eyes: one blood red and the other a bright acid green. It clicked its beak at her and cawed._

_Heart thumping in her chest, she twisted around in the crow's claws, trying to get free. A sharp whistle was all the warning she got before the eagle slammed into the crow, talons scrabbling at the crow's soft underbelly, fighting for a hold. The two birds screamed and slashed at each other with their beaks, and in the fray, the crow let go of her._

_She cried out and reached up, trying to grab on to the eagle, but the crow's claws glanced off her forehead, cutting the skin open and blinding her just as she managed to grab onto the eagle's leg. Pain ripped through her head and she screamed as she lost grip on the eagle. Twisting in the air, she plummeted towards the ocean. The eagle cried out and dislodged itself from the crow, tucking its wings into its sides and diving towards her. _

_Before the eagle could reach her, she plunged feet first into the ocean and disappeared under the surface. The currents of the water attacked her from all sides, pulling her into the depths of the open ocean, away from the bay. She clawed her way back to the surface, coughing up the sea-water that she had swallowed._

_A wave slammed into her and sent her under again. It took her longer to resurface this time, and the next time she went under, she didn't come back up. The eagle, flying in circles over the ocean, let out a scream of rage._

_And miles away, Moira O'Shea woke with a start._

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Mo sat straight up in bed, her chest heaving as though she'd been running. Her sheets were soaked in sweat and twisted around her legs like ropes. Peeling them off of her, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rubbed her forehead, fingering the smooth skin that had been torn open in the dream.

Turning on the lamp on her bedside table, she scrambled over to the mirror that hung on her wall and peered at her reflection. A tall, lanky fourteen year old girl stared back at her, sea green eyes wide under messy dark hair. Pushing back her bangs, she studied the place where the crow had struck her in the dream, and found only smooth tanned skin.

Furrowing her brow, she tried to remember more about the dream, but found it was slipping away from her faster than water through a sieve. She pressed her palms to her eyes and tried to re-picture the dream. There had been a beach … it was storming out … there had been people fighting – no, not people, animals. But, why?

Groaning in frustration, she opened her eyes again, blinking away the black spots in her vision from pressing too hard. The dream was nothing but a faint tickle in the back of her mind now, and the illusionary pain in her forehead was gone. She looked around her room, looking for anything unusual that would connect her to her dream.

As it happened, there were a number of odd things in her room. An owl perch stood in the far corner of her room, an extremely fluffy owl perched on top, head tucked under its wing as it slept. A large trunk was shoved in the back corner of her closet which was partially open, spilling robes, a cauldron and her school uniform onto the ground.

Assorted spell books were stacked on her desk beside rolls of parchment, quills and ink wells. A broomstick leaned against the wall by her door, and posters of different sports teams – all of them wearing different coloured robes and riding on broomsticks - a band called the Weird Sisters and a few pictures of her friends were plastered on the walls. All of the pictures were moving.

On her bedside table, beside a book whose title read '**Hogwarts: a History**', was a long, thin piece of wood: Mo's wand. You see, Mo was a witch who'd just finished her third year at Hogwarts with her friends. She hadn't seen them since term ended over six weeks ago. It was mid-August now, with a fortnight left until term started again, and Mo was antsy to get back.

Picking up a letter from her dresser, she re-read it for the thousandth time since it arrived a few days ago:

_ Dear Mr and Mrs O'Shea,_

_ I know we have never been properly introduced, but I'm sure you've heard a lot about my son Ron from Moira._

_As Moira might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place next Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has managed to get prime tickets through his connections in the Department of Magical Games and Sports (he works in our Ministry)._

_I am writing to ask if we can take Moira along to the game. This is really a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, as Britain hasn't hosted the Cup for thirty years, and tickets are hard to come by right now. She would be welcome to stay at our house for the remainder of the summer holidays, of course, and we would be sure to get her safely to Kings Cross on the first of September. _

_Don't worry about taking Moira shopping for her school supplies, as my family, Harry (possibly) and Hermione (Moira's friends, I'm sure you've heard about them) will be going to get our supplies after the World Cup._

_Please tell Moira to write back the normal way, because I'm afraid that the Muggle postman doesn't know where our house is._

_Hoping to see Moira soon,_

_Mrs Molly Weasley_

Mo grinned, remembering the look on her parents faces as they received Mrs Weasley's letter. The entire envelope had been covered in stamps, with her parents' address squeezed in a tiny box on the front. After assuring her parents she would probably be rooming with Ginny and Hermione and _not_ the boys, they had allowed her to go.

She had immediately written back, and had received a reply back with Jareth, her owl, two days ago. It had been Ron this time, and it had taken her a bit to decipher his untidy scrawl:

_That's great Bones! It makes things so much easier, but we would have come and got you anyways. You can't miss this, but Mum thought it'd be better to pretend to ask permission._

She had laughed at his.

_Right, so we'll be there at ten o'clock Saturday morning to pick you up. Hermione's arriving later that afternoon and we're picking up Harry at five on Sunday. Percy's started work – the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I'm warning you now, don't ask Percy how work is going, because you will never escape the rant he'll go into._

_Oh, and I know how Percy gets on your nerves (he is a pompous git after all) but try to ignore him (Ginny made me write that) or, if you'd like, help Fred and George prank the pants off of him (offered by Messrs' Weasley and Weasley)._

_See you soon,_

_Ron_

Mo grinned again and set the letter back on her desk. It was around quarter after seven in the morning now; there was no way she was going back to sleep after that nightmare, so she might as well get ready.

Opening her door, she padded across the hall to the bathroom and turned the shower on. She nearly had a heart-attack when her mother knocked on the door. Whirling around, Mo smiled sheepishly at her mother.

'Nightmare?' Mrs O'Shea asked, her Irish accent thick in her fatigue.

'Yeah, it was a really bad one this time. I just wish I could remember anything beyond the fear,' Mo said, shrugging. Not for the first time since she turned eleven, she noticed the marked difference in her Scottish brogue and her parents' lilting Irish. Pushing the traitorous thoughts away, she smiled reassuringly at her mother.

Her parents had long since gotten used to her getting up and having showers or swimming in the pool at all hours of the night. Whenever she was scared or sick, she would gravitate towards water. It always seemed to calm her down.

Her mother nodded and reached forwards, briefly hugging her before turning back to her room. 'Your father and I will be up in around an hour. We'll eat breakfast together and then see you off, if there's time.'

'Okay, good night – well, good morning, Mum,' Mo smiled quietly and shut the door after her mother.

The warm water helped calm her down, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, the sun was rising over the horizon. Towelling her hair, she wrapped another towel around herself and headed back to her room, pulling on her underwear, a pair of grey short shorts and a bright yellow top.

Grabbing her toiletry bag, she headed back to the bathroom, throwing her towels in the hamper and brushing out her wet wavy hair. Taking her time through her daily facial routine, she applied a bit of make-up and breezed past her father with a cheery hello, who grunted good-morning as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

Once back in her room, she began folding up her clothes and robes and packing them into her trunk. It was nearing eight-thirty by the time she finished jamming the last items into her trunk. Sitting on it, Mo lugged it downstairs and set it in the living room, before running back upstairs – passing her wide awake and dressed mother – to grab Jareth's cage and make her bed.

After making sure she hadn't forgotten anything, she sent Jareth off to the Weasleys, grabbed her wand and bounded downstairs. Her mother was standing in front of the stove, frying eggs while her father tended to the bacon and sausage. 'Can you butter the toast?' her mother asked, just as the toast popped up.

Pulling the butter dish towards her, she set about buttering the toast and carrying plates of finished sausage, bacon and eggs to the table. Once the table was set and everything cooked, her parents joined her at the table and they tucked in.

The next hour passed quickly, and at ten to ten, Moira was waiting in the living room, practically vibrating with excitement. She paused, blinked and burst out laughing, much to the alarm of her parents, as she realized she was acting exactly like she had in first year.

At that moment, the flames in the fireplace turned bright green, and a figure could be seen, spinning very fast and growing larger by the minute, until the tall, balding form of Mr Weasley shot out of the fireplace, spreading ash all over her mother's hardwood floors.

'Terribly sorry about that,' said Mr Weasley, standing up and dusting soot off his patched robes, 'Here, just give me a moment…'

Drawing his wand from inside his robes, he flicked his wand, cleaning up the ash from both the floor and himself. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned to Mo's parents and smiled. 'Hello, you must be Moira's parents. I'm Mr Weasley; it's a pleasure to meet you.'

He strode forwards, hand out-stretched. Her parents shook it, cautious smiles on their faces. Mo sniggered at her parents shocked faces, schooling her face into a smile when Mr Weasley turned to her, his eyes lingering on the plug in the wall by the lamp.

'All ready to go, Moira?' he asked jovially.

'Of course,' said Mo, arching an eyebrow as he checked a dented pocket-watch he drew from the depths of his coat.

'We only have the Floo connection for another couple minutes,' he explained, noticing her look. 'After all, this is a Muggle residence, and we don't want wizards and witches popping through by accident. Statue of Secrecy and all.'

Mo nodded in understanding. Mr Weasley grabbed her trunk, and lugged it over to the fireplace. He frowned at the little space and, with a wave of his wand, enlarged it so that it was tall enough to comfortably fit Mr Weasley. 'You go first, Moira,' he said, 'I'll follow you.'

'Uh, Mr Weasley, what about the fireplace?' she asked.

'Oh, it'll go back to normal once I pass through,' he replied.

'Ah,' she said airily. Turning, she waved at her parents and took a handful of the sparkling green powder Mr Weasley offered her.

Throwing it into the flames, which roared tall and bright emerald green, she stepped into the fireplace, owl cage firm in hand, and said clearly, 'The Burrow.'

Her last view was of her living room and her parents surprised faces before it whipped out of sight in a rush of emerald flames. Mo spun faster and faster, her elbows tucked tightly to her sides. She'd learned her lesson back in second year, when she had badly bruised her elbows getting to Diagon Alley with the Weasleys.

Mo felt herself slowing down and, keeping one hand on her owl's cage, twisted around so she landed on her butt instead of her face. Coughing, she scrambled out of the way as Mr Weasley came through the flames carrying her trunk.

'Ah, Moira. Pleasant ride?' he asked, smiling down at her.

'Yea, sure,' she said, standing up and rubbing her bruised tailbone.

There was a great exclamation from the kitchen as the missing Weasley's stampeded towards her. 'Katherina!' cried Fred – or was it George? She was right ninety percent of the time, and so decided to go with Fred – happily, hugging her. 'How lovely to see you again!'

'Nice to see you too, Fred,' said Mo as George came up beside them.

Both boys looked wounded. 'Why, my dear Katherina –' one started.

'– how can you not tell –' continued the other.

'– that I am Fred –' said the first.

'– and he's George!'

'No, you're not,' she said, pointing to the twin who had hugged her. 'You're Fred. You're the tiniest bit taller than George, who is the only twin who hasn't hugged me yet.'

Fred and George looked from each other back to Mo. 'Merlin's pants!' Fred cried. 'George, she's figured us out! No one's ever been able to do that!'

Mo grinned smugly. She had just opened her mouth to speak when she was tackled by her best female friend, Hermione Granger. 'Oh, it's so good to see you!' Hermione said as she pulled away. 'How has your summer been? Did you finish your summer homework? I've had mine done for months –'

'C'mon Hermione, let the girl breath,' Ron had arrived. Mo started up at her other best friend's face in shock.

'Whoa Ron, you grew. A lot.'

He grinned and gave her a one-armed hug. 'Its mum's meals, I swear it.'

'And how are you Mrs. Weasley? Doing alright, yeah?' Mo asked warmly as she hugged the matriarch of the Weasley Clan.

'I'm good, dear,' said Mrs Weasley, pulling back and frowning at Mo. 'Have you been eating enough, dear? You look a bit thin.'

'I'm fine, Mrs Weasley. I've been eating enough to feed a small army. I'm just chalking it up to my metabolism and the growth spurt I had at the beginning of the summer. Obviously, it wasn't as big a growth spurt as the rest of my friends,' She muttered.

'Well, we'll just have to try and fatten you up anyways. You and Harry are always too thin after the holidays,' she fretted.

Mo hugged Ginny hello and nodded to Percy. There were, however, two people she didn't know personally. She knew immediately who they were of course: Bill and Charlie, Ron's eldest brothers.

The nearer one grinned at her and held out a large hand covered in calluses and blisters, which Mo shook. 'Alright there, Moira?' he asked. Mo instantly knew this was Charlie, the Weasley who worked with dragons in Romania. He was shorter and stockier than the others, with a broad, good-natured face that was so weather beaten and freckly he looked almost tanned.

Bill also shook her hand, smiling. She wasn't all that surprised at his appearance, given that he worked at Gringotts as a curse-breaker. He was tall – like most of the Weasleys – with long red hair tied in a ponytail and an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it, dragon-hide boots and clothes that looked like they came from a rock concert.

He was cool. Mo liked him immediately.

'Moira, dear, you'll be rooming with Hermione and Ginny,' said Mrs Weasley. 'Third floor, first door on your right. Hermione, Ginny, why don't you help her take her stuff upstairs.'

Together, the three girls grabbed her trunk, balanced the owl cage on it and began lugging it up the stairs. They were all huffing and puffing by the time they got to Ginny's room. Mo dumped her stuff on a spare mattress and flopped on Ginny's bed.

'Well, I'm beat,' said Mo, closing her eyes. 'I think I'll just sleep…'

'Moira!' said Hermione, perching on the edge of the bed as Ginny joined Mo, sprawling across the worn comforter. 'It's only ten o'clock! How can you possibly be tired if you got up – most likely – an hour ago?'

'Actually, Hermione,' said Mo, cracking one eye open. 'I've been up since quarter after seven.'

'Really?' said Ginny, rolling over on her stomach and kicking her legs up in the air. 'Why so early? It's still summer vacation.'

'Nightmares,' replied Mo.

Hermione's face softened. 'Do you want to talk about it?' she asked gently.

'Nah,' Mo said. 'I can't even remember what it was about, to be perfectly honest.'

Her bushy-haired friend pursed her lips and instead changed the topic. 'Did you finish your summer homework? Ron hasn't even started on his.'

The girls spent the rest of the afternoon up in Ginny's room, catching up on what they had missed during their time apart, listening to Mo's Weird Sister's CD and just generally goofing off until dinnertime.

Dinnertime with the Weasleys was Mo's favourite time. It was loud, crowded and bright. Mo loved every minute of it. Mrs Weasley's cooking by far bested her mother's, who had trained briefly under a chef, and the conversation flowed between people far more easily than her parents awkward attempts to ask about her school and the magical world.

Fred and George were filling Ginny in on their latest prank ideas; Charlie and Ron argued about who they thought would win the cup on Monday: Bulgaria or Ireland. Mr Weasley and Percy were discussing Percy's work, and Mrs Weasley was fingering her wand, trying to convince Bill to let her cut his hair.

Hermione and Mo sat quietly in the center of the table, just listening to the conversations around them. This is what a family should be like, Mo decided. Not stiff and scientific, like with her parents. Mo loved her parents, but sometimes she felt like a specimen to be studied, not their daughter.

Mo's thoughts travelled to the mysterious words of the sorting hat, three years prior. The hat had said she thirsted for knowledge like her fiery Scots woman of a mother (quite true, seeing as she and Hermione were top of their classes, though not for lack of effort, and also seeing as how Mo still had her Scottish accent and a wicked temper to boot) and would do great things like her father (well, she had helped Harry fight Voldemort – indirectly – in first year, convinced some of the school that Harry wasn't the heir of Slytherin in second year, figured out Sirius was innocent before anyone else, helped a mass murder escape… she was definitely on the right track).

Since that day, Mo had scoured the libraries and genealogy charts, trying to find her birth parents. She'd had no luck, even with Hermione's help – that girl knew the library like the back of her hand. Mo had, however, found a paternity potion in a dusty old book at the back of the library. It wouldn't take long to brew, but she was still debating on how to approach Snape in order to ask to use his classroom to brew the potion.

She was not looking forwards to that.

The dinner drew slowly to a close and Mo leaned back in her chair, sleepy and pleasantly full. The loud conversations had lowered to soft murmurs. Hermione was leaning against Ron's shoulder, half asleep. Ron looked fairly pink and Mo would have snickered if she wasn't too tired to care.

'Alright, off to bed now,' said Mrs Weasley, clearing the dishes with a wave of her wand and gently shaking Ginny awake, who had fallen asleep on the table. 'You'll want to be wide awake when Harry comes tomorrow.'

Yawning, Mo poked Hermione in the side and tugged her to her feet. 'C'mon, Hermione,' she whined when the bushy-haired girl refused to budge. 'I do want to get to sleep sometime within the next century.'

'I'll carry her,' offered Ron, turning red behind the ears.

Making a mental note to take the mick of him in the morning, she trooped up the stairs after Ginny and guestured for Ron to set Hermione down on the camp-bed closest to the door. Ron set her down gently, waved good-night and headed upstairs to his room.

'Oi, Hermione, unless you want to sleep in your clothes, I suggest you get up,' Ginny grumbled as she pulled her pajamas on.

Hermione stirred, muttered something unintelligible and rolled right back over again. Tugging on her pajamas pants, Mo flopped on her bed and chucked a pillow at Hermione. The brunette witch sat up and glared blearily at her. 'Don't look at me like that,' muttered Mo. 'You'd hate it if you woke up in your clothes in the morning.'

Quickly stripping and changing into pajamas, Hermione crawled beneath the covers as Ginny extinguished the light. All was silent for a moment. And then –

'Hermione, can you toss my pillow back?'

Mo grunted as the pillow smacked into the back of her head. 'Thanks.'

Soon the only sounds in the room were the soft inhales and exhales of Hermione and Ginny, who dropped off to sleep immediately. Mo rolled onto her side and stared out Ginny's window at the half-moon. _It'll be nice to see Harry tomorrow,_ she thought. _I wonder if he's grown at all? I bet I can still whip his arse at Quidditch._

Smiling to herself, Mo finally dropped off to sleep.

She didn't dream a thing.

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**notes: **i won't always be updating twice in one day, especially not when school starts up again. i have a heavy semester this year: math, biology, grade 12 chemistry and english. i am going to die.

anyways, sorry about the lack of action/Harry in this chapter. it was more of a filler chapter really. so, please, if you have time, send me a review. i'd love to here what you guys think. if there are any mistakes, please point them out, as i don't have a beta and tend to miss things.

**Edit 23/12/2011 and 31/07/12**: i filled some plot holes hear because i realized that i was inconsistent from this chapter to the next. so it's fixed! also, i made mo Scottish! because i realized my original plan was ridiculous and now i had to change it. so, enjoy!


	3. nicknames and harry

**disclaimer**: mine, actually. well, moira, her family and all future oc's belong to me. harry potter belongs to the wonderful j.k.r  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to…whomever  
><strong>not<strong>**es**: none. enjoy the story. oh katherina is pronounced kat-er-ina (in my mind) and she is a character from shakespeare's the taming of the shrew

**title**: by trial of fire  
><strong>summary<strong>: its moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts, and with the rising threat of voldemort, the triwizard tournament and her strange dreams, this year's bound to be a doozy. Harry/OC

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**chapter two  
>nicknames, portkeys and harry<strong>

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The soft bleeping of her portable alarm woke Mo the next morning. Groaning softly, she rolled over and fished it out of her bag, glaring blearily at the flashing numbers. She was seriously regretting allowing Hermione to by her that magical alarm clock last year as an early birthday present. 'Oh, shut it,' she grumbled, turning it off and flinging it back into her bag. 'It is too early to get up. Why am I up this early again?'

She waited for an answer and groaned again. 'Well, now I know I've gone mad. I'm talking to myself. Great.'

Sitting up, Mo ran a hand through her short hair and dug around in her bag for her running clothes. 'Not only that,' she muttered as she eased out the door and into the bathroom (conveniently on the same floor as Ginny's room); 'I was actually expecting a reply.'

Shaking her head, she dropped her dirty clothes into the hamper – as per Mrs Weasley's insistence the previous night – and sat down on her bed. Quickly pulling on her knee-brace, socks and running shoes, she crept downstairs and headed for the back door.

It was still cool out; a light fog hung over the dewy grass like a blanket. The sky was just starting to change colour as the sun began to rise, bathing everything in a soft gold glow. Stepping out of the Burrow and scooting past some sleepy chickens just beginning to wake, she took off at a steady pace down the dirt road leading into the quiet village of Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England.

Mo could just see it in the valley below, spread out like a blanket. Nearer to the edge of town, a beautiful, old church sat quietly among the graves of the dead, like an old man minding his grandchildren.

It was still a good few miles away, and Mo picked up her speed until she was flying down the dirt road, her hair flying in her eyes and sticking to her sweaty cheeks. Since the start of the summer, Mo had taken up running in an effort to get in shape. She figured it was a good idea, seeing as she was sticking with Harry and that, inevitably, being near Harry was probably going to end up with her running for her life.

A while later, she slowed to a stop outside of the cemetery and walked along, huffing and trying to calm her heart rate down. It was hot, even for early morning, and she suddenly wished she was at the little cottage by the sea, were she had spent every summer at since she could remember. A stranger had happened upon Mo and her parents when she was little, given the deed to the cottage to them and walked away. They never found out his name, or why he had given them the deed, only that it had been written in their name and signed in shining blue ink.

Thinking idly of the soft white sand, grassy dunes and cool ocean water, Mo didn't see the tombstone until she ran into it, scraping her shin on the rough stone. Cursing, she hopped backwards, carefully brushing dirt out of the cut and scowling at the stone like it personally offended her. The stone was old and weathered, but obviously well-cared for. The inscription read _Fabian Prewett, born May 14, 1947 – died January 11, 1979. A fighter, a dreamer, a brother, he will be sorely missed._

Mo reached out and ran her fingers across Fabian's name. Hadn't Ron said he'd had an Uncle named Fabien, who'd died in the First War? Looking around, she found a tombstone a few feet away, with the same inscription except for the name – Gideon. 'These must be Ron's uncles,' she said to the weeping willow that brushed its long fingers on the graves, 'The ones that died in the war.'

For a moment, Mo stood in silence, listening to the wind whispering through the tree and staring at th graves of two men she had never known. Shaking her head, she nodded to the tombstones, turned around and jogged back out of the cemetery.

She never noticed the grey and white cat watching her from the gravestone a few rows away. As she left the cemetery, the cat gave her one last look and vanished without a trace.

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The sun had already risen high into the sky by the time Mo reached the Burrow again, panting and sweating from the efforts of her run. Plopping down on the cool grass, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and set about stretching the sore muscles in her legs and cooling off slowly with periodic, small sips her water.

After a few more minutes of stretching, she bounded quietly into the house, only to find Mrs. Weasley already awake and puttering around the kitchen. 'Good morning Mrs. Weasley. I didn't wake you up when I left earlier did I?' Mo asked worriedly.

'No dear, of course you didn't,' Mrs. Weasley assured her as she forked slices of bacon into the frying pans while absently twirling her wand at the old radio sitting a ways away on the counter, switching between channels. 'I always get up early during the summer to make breakfast – will five growing boys and one growing girl still in the house, I can never make enough!'

Mo laughed. 'I'd bet. Um, is the bathroom free?'

'Oh yes, go ahead. It's best to get it before the boys start waking up. Once their up, it's basically a free-for-all.' Mrs. Weasley said.

'Thanks!' Mo replied brightly, waving at Mrs. Weasley and bounding – as quietly as she could – up the stairs to Ginny's room.

Easing open the door, she snuck over to her trunk, pulled out her favourite summer dress, some undergarments and her toiletry bag. Ginny shifted slightly and Mo froze. She knew from previous experience that waking Ginny up this early in the morning during the summer was like asking for a death sentence.

When Ginny had settled down again, Mo breathed a sigh of relief and crept carefully back out of the room, going slower than normal to ensure she didn't trip over anything, like she was prone to doing (Mo swore it was some kind of curse against her).

Heading into the bathroom, Mo locked the door, turned on the shower, and stripped. Grabbing her soaps, she hopped in and hissed at the icy temperature. Hopping from foot to foot, she soaped up her hair and viciously scrubbed until the water ran warm. Finishing quickly after, she towelled off and pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a black tank-top. Fluffing out her drying hair, she slipped on white roman sandals and headed back to Ginny's room to stow away her things.

Hermione was just getting up when she entered the room. Rubbing her eyes blearily, Mo's bushy-haired friend mumbled hello as she mechanically gathered her toiletries and disappeared into the bathroom. Mo heard the shower running a moment later and found it safe to wake Ginny up now without having to worry about collateral damage (namely, Hermione getting hit by flying projectiles – she never had forgiven Mo for not warning her about Ginny's violent tendencies that one time).

'Ginny,' Mo whispered, gently poking her friend with her foot. 'Oh Giiiiiny. Wake up Gin, c'mon. It's time to get up, yeah?'

The red-head rolled over and muttered something along the lines of 'Gerrof, I wanna sleep', but that sounded like 'G'rff m'wnn slllmph'.

Mo edged away a little, grabbed the glass of water sitting on Ginny's nightstand, and slowly crept up to Ginny's bedside. Gripping the covers in one hand, Mo took a deep breath, and in one swift movement, yanked the covers off and upended the glass of permanently charmed cold water onto the redhead.

A blood-curdling cry of, 'MOIRA!' awoke the rest of the previously sleeping occupants of the house. Down in the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley cocked her head, and then shook it in fond exasperation as thumping came from Ginny's room.

Ron, who had been resting his head on the table, still half-asleep, jumped a mile as Moira tore into the kitchen and ducked behind him. 'She's gonna kill me!' she cried, cowering as Ginny stormed in, hair dripping wet and a look that promised murder on her face.

'Moira Katherine O'Shea, you are a dead woman!' Ginny hissed, and Mo swallowed.

Why did she always have to be the one to wake up Ginny? And WHY did she listen to Mrs. Weasley's advice from two years ago to just dump water on Ginny if she didn't wake up immediately?!

Before the irate red-head could lunge at her friend and strangle her, Mrs. Weasley stepped in. 'Now, now, dear, I told Moira to wake you up,' the Weasley matriarch said sternly, waving her hand and drying Ginny off. 'It's time for breakfast. Take a seat at the table and make sure your brother doesn't eat half the food before the others get down her.'

Setting the last platter of food on the table, Mrs. Weasley bustled out of the kitchen. Tension settled on the trio like thick, sticky molasses. Mo warily sat herself down, making sure to put Ron and half the table between her and Ginny.

Ron, for his part, just looked sleepily amused. 'One of these days, Bones,' he yawned, 'she's going to get you back, and you are seriously going to regret waking her up early.'

Mo frowned. 'It's not my fault; other people make me wake her up all the time and take the heat for them! I don't chose to be the one to dump water on her head. And don't call me Bones.'

'Yeah, whatever you say, Bones,' he snorted.

'**Don't** call me Bones,' she hissed.

'But it's such a cute nickname!' Ginny said brightly, all previous promises of murder forgotten. Mo looked at her friend weirdly. She swore that girl was bipolar sometimes.

'Not really. And if he wants to give me a nickname, he can just call me Mo, like Harry does.' Turning to Ron, she poked him in the side. 'I really don't get why you, Harry and your brothers all insist on having different nicknames for me. It gets terribly confusing sometimes.'

'No it doesn't,' Ron retorted, pouring a tall glass of orange juice and draining half of it. 'It's easy to remember who calls you what, because they never call you anything else.'

'But –' Mo was cut off as Fred and George appeared in the room, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

'Good morning, oh brother-and-sister of mine!' Fred crowed.

'And good morning to you too, my dear Katherina,' George bowed and slid into a seat next to her.

'Why must you and Fred insist on calling me Katherina? It's not even a nickname!'

'Because, my dear Katherina-' Fred began.

'Your wonderful wit-' George continued.

'And bull-headed nature-'

'Remind us ever so much-'

'Of the beautiful Katherina Minola-'

'-from that muggle tale!' They chorused together.

Mo looked from George, who sat beside her, to Fred, who sat across from her, and let her head thud into the table. 'I regret ever trying to educate you two in the beauty of Muggle literature.'

'It's alright, Katherina,' Fred reached across the table and patted her hand consolingly. 'Your lessons have led to some interesting new ideas for pranks! Care to enlighten us on more?'

'I should have stuck with Disney.' She said deploringly.

Bill and Charlie, who had just walked in, looked quizzically at Mo, who by now was beating her head against the table lightly. 'Uh, Moira?' Charlie asked as he sat down across from George. 'Are you okay?'

'Perfectly fine,' she mumbled, raising her head and alternating between glaring at Fred and George and smiling at Charlie, who shook his head in amusement and pulled the platter of bacon towards him as Percy, Hermione, Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley all trooped into the kitchen.

Breakfast was as lively an affair as dinner the previous night. Conversations flew back and forth, and Mo settled for arguing with Ron about her nickname.

'I really don't understand why _one sentence_ I said _once_ suddenly gave you an idea for that silly nickname! It's worse than Katherina!' she said hotly, jabbing her fork at Ron, who swallowed his eggs and grinned.

'Aw, c'mon Bones, you have to admit it's not as bad of a nickname. At least it's more original than 'Mo'.'

'No,' Mo mumbled around a mouthful of bacon. 'Mo is a fine nickname. Harry uses it all the time, and it doesn't seem to bother him.'

Ron snorted. 'That's because Harry's sweet on you. And I like Bones. It's different, and no, you can't get me to stop.'

'Harry is not sweet on me, you numpty. Why do you even call me Bones anyways,' she asked, switching tactics. 'Where did it come from?'

He grinned. 'Remember when you were telling Harry and me about how you had to leave all your Muggle things – the things that you really liked – behind, and how all you had was your bones? It was way back in first year, at the welcome feast or something.'

'Yeah, so wha – _oh_.' Mo said in realization. 'You got Bones from that little sentence?'

'Yup.'

Mo and Hermione, who had been listening in, both looked at Ron with a new light. 'Wow, Ron,' said Hermione, 'that's really creative of you.'

Ron's ears burned red and he ducked his head, immersing himself in his sausages and toast. Mo snickered and turned around to annoy George as Ron began to explain Quidditch to Hermione, who had apparently mentioned last night that she didn't really have a clue about the sport.

Both of them were suspiciously pink in the face, and Mo began to plan their wedding.

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After clearing the table, Mrs. Weasley shooed them all outside to enjoy the sunshine. The boys immediately headed for the broom shed, Ginny leading the way. Hermione and Mo settled on the grass, Hermione with her school-books and Mo with the final bit of her summer homework.

Spreading a soft blanket Mrs. Weasley had lent her on the grass, Mo plunked down and carefully set down some quills, ink, parchment, her schoolbooks and the muggle notebooks she recopied all her notes in and that she used for rough essays.

The muggle binders and pens had been given to her as a going away present by her extended family – not that they were related to her. Her best friends when she was younger and lived a simpler life (read: only worrying about muggle things) were Zach Morrins, his grandfather, Old Ben, and a smart, extremely tall (and surprisingly well-co-ordinated) boy that lived on her street named Milo.

Zach had been 19 to her six, but he had been the big brother she never had. He taught her how to play football, how to punch properly and the best way to climb trees, all within the short years that she had lived in Inverness and actually gone to a regular school.

Milo had been her wingman. While he wasn't as good at fighting or tree climbing as she was, he was an amazing landscape drawer and a technical genius. She had spent the better part of her years with Milo, Zach and Old Ben sitting on a park bench somewhere, in a dance studio (because Zach danced, surprise, surprise!) or in the living room of Milo's house (or mansion; his grandfather was a famous explorer, his father a lawyer and his mother the owner of a chain of successful franchises) just goofing off.

They knew about her witch status of course - they were the first people after her parents she told, considering her parents now normally spent the summers either traveling with her or living in Inverness to give her some sense of stability (like they ever cared before).

Fishing around in her Transfiguration notebook, she grabbed her favourite ocean blue pen and after a moment's thought grabbed a flat, smooth piece of wood from her bottomless bag to write on. Opening her notebook to a fresh page, she grabbed her textbook, flipped to the appropriate page and began to take notes.

For the next several hours, Mo worked steadily on her transfiguration notes and started on a rough draft, and after Hermione looked it over, a good draft of her essay. It was getting close to five when Mo looked up and saw Fred, George and Ron descending from the make-shift Quidditch pitch.

'Where're you lot going?' Mo asked as they trooped past her, hair mussed and grinning like loons.

'It's almost time to pick up Harry,' Ron explained. 'We're going with Dad to the Dursleys by Floo in a few minutes.'

'Really?' Mo said brightly, smiling.

Ron, Fred and George all exchanged looks and Mo got up from her blanket and stood in front of them, hands on her hips and an accusing frown on her face. 'What?' she demanded.

'Oh, nothing, dear Moira,' Fred said innocently as George and Ron snickered in the background. 'Nothing at all.'

'Uh huh, and Merlin was a muggle woman who dressed in drag,' Mo replied sarcastically. 'Seriously, what did I say?'

'Nothing!' Ron cried as they backed away slowly. 'It was nothing, forget about it. I promise we won't tease you about whatever we're thinking about.'

'Bullshit.'

'Language, Moira.' Hermione said absently from the grass.

Mo huffed as the boys trooped away, laughing. 'I'm going to play Quidditch with Ginny.'

Putting her quills and ink back into the box she had retrieved from her trunk, and giving her half-completed essay to Hermione to give it time to dry, she grabbed Ron's broom and kicked off into the air to where Ginny hovered just below the tree line. 'You up for a little one on one? Chaser to Chaser.' Mo grinned, gripping the broom with her thighs as she tied her hair back into a messy ponytail.

'You're on!' Ginny smirked, hefting the make-shift quaffle in her hand. 'Loser has to help mum wash the dishes tonight.'

'Ladies first,' said Mo.

'Then why aren't you going?' Ginny shot back.

The next ten minutes went by like lightening. Mo dove, rolled, weaved and at one point hung completely upside down on her broom, gripping it with only her thighs, and caught the quaffle before it could hit the ground.

Both girls were careful to stay below the treeline, and the score was quickly mounting in Ginny's favour. It was 3 for 3 when a cry from the house distracted Ginny, allowing Mo to slip past her guard and score the tie-breaker.

'Yes!' Mo cried triumphantly as Ginny squawked indignantly. 'I win! Have fun washing dishes, Gin!'

'Prat,' Ginny said as they landed gently on the grass. 'I would have won if mum hadn't distracted me.'

'Maybe,' Mo lifted her ponytail from her neck and fanned her face as they put the brooms away and trudged back towards the house; up ahead, Hermione vanished inside, 'What did your mum say anyways?'

'That your favourite person in the entire world has arrived,' said a voice from ahead of them.

Mo's head whipped up, a large smile growing on her face as she dropped her ponytail and charged towards the person standing a few feet away. 'Harry!' she yelled, leaping on him and throwing her arms around his neck, Scottish accent much more pronounced in her enthusiasm. 'I haven't seen you in forever!'

'A month is hardly forever!' Harry laughed as he caught her, shifting his equilibrium so her weight and momentum didn't sent them both tumbling to the ground. 'You haven't grown a bit!'

'You have!' Mo released him from her hug and poked him in the chest. 'No fair! We used to be the same height!'

'Yes, well, now you're just a short shit,' Harry teased.

'Shut up, Potter,' Mo laughed. 'I'm still one of the tallest girls in our year.'

'Yeah, but you're still short to me,' he replied, 'The perfect height for an armrest now.'

'Don't even think about it,' she shook her finger in his face threateningly, but he just laughed again and slung an arm around her shoulder, ruffling her hair absently.

'Come on; I think Mrs. Weasley wants some help. Fair warning, though; don't mention the twins. She's furious with them.'

'What? Why? And stop touching my hair!' Mo said, scooting out from under Harry's hand and jumping on his back. 'Onward, my noble steed!'

'Aye, fair lady,' Harry said sarcastically as he hooked his hands under her knees and continued walking. 'And it's because she found out they gave one of their prank candies to Dudley. Made his tongue go purple and grow about two feet. You should have seen my aunt and uncle's faces, it was great!'

She started laughing as Harry described Dudley's tongue in earnest, and how his uncle's face had gone beyond puce and somewhere closer to black with rage. They entered the kitchen, still laughing, only to find Mrs. Weasley banging pots and pans around and sitting some sauce furiously with her wand, a scowl settled firmly on her face.

'There you two are. I need you to bring the cutlery outside.' She jabbed her wand at the draw with more force than necessary; Harry ducked and Mo yelped in shock as sharp knives flew at them and embedded themselves in the wood behind them.

'Dear Merlin, I'm so sorry!' Mrs. Weasley said, coming over and yanking the knives out of the wall. 'Those two just make me so mad! They'd have gotten more than six OWLs combined if they used their brains for school instead of making all those – those _useless_ little pranks. They should be thinking about where they want to work at the Ministry, not questing to open a _joke shop_ of all things!'

'It's alright Mrs. Weasley,' said Mo weakly, sliding from Harry's back and taking the knives from the irate red-head, who cut off her rant mid-word.

Mrs. Weasley gave her a small smile as she went back to the stove and reached for her wand, which she had put on the table. 'It's nice of you two to – OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!'

The wand she had grabbed turned out to be one of Fred and George's fake wands. It emitted a loud squawk and promptly turned into a garishly coloured parrot. Throwing it down on the table, she grabbed her real wand and proceeded to stir the sauce with far more energy than needed, muttering darkly to herself under her breath.

Grabbing the forks and spoons, Harry crept out of the kitchen after Mo, and it wasn't until they were out of earshot and safely outside that they broke into laughter. 'Oh, my god, one day Fred and George are going to push it too far, and Mrs. Weasley will murder them!' cried Mo.

'Nah, she'll just blow up at them and forgive them after a few weeks. She can't stay mad at them for long, even if they do piss her off half the time.' Harry nudged her out of the way of Crookshanks, Hermione's bushy-tailed cat, which was chasing after a gnome that took refuge in a manky old boot lying on its side in the grass.

Mo moved go after the cat – she had a soft spot for the orange tom – when a loud banging from up ahead caused her to veer off course, running pell-mell around the house to investigate. Harry ran after her, shouting.

'Mo! Merlin's pants Mo; slow down before you fall and impale yourself on those knives! I don't want a shish-kebob for a best friend!'

He rounded the corner and found her standing beside the twins and Ginny, who were sprawled in the crash, cheering at whatever Bill and Charlie were doing. Upon hearing Harry's shout, she turned and gave him a _please-tell-me-you-did-not-just-say-__**that**_ face.

'Oh you worry too much,' Mo flapped her free hand at him as he came to a stop behind her. 'I'm fi – go Charlie go!'

She began cheering enthusiastically alongside the Twins and Ginny as Bill and Charlie, who were levitating two tables high in the air, smashed the ends together. Mo was about to fall over from laughing so hard, and she gave Harry a thankful smile as he carefully extracted the sharp knives from her grip and gave her an exasperated look.

Mo let herself sprawl on the grass beside Ginny, and both girls whooped wildly as Charlie knocked one of Bill's table legs off. She heard a window open and looked up to see Percy sticking his head out of his window, a frown on his pale face. Her laugh died in her throat and she scowled at him. 'Pompous ass.' She muttered, causing Ginny, who overheard her, to snicker.

'Can you please keep it down? This report is due to Mr. Crouch on Tuesday, and I can never hope to finish it on time if you keep up this incessant racket.'

'Sorry Perce,' said Bill easily as he and Charlie let the tables down. He reattached the leg with a swish of his wand, and Percy hmphed and shut the window.

'_Can you please keep it down, Mr. Crouch is in dire need of ass-kissing soon_,' Mo said in a high voice, giving a poor impersonation of Percy, before sticking her tongue out at the now closed window and getting up from the grass. 'Seriously, he needs to relax sometime. All the stress is going to make his hair fall out.'

Harry gave her a skeptical look and wordlessly handed the knives to her when she held out her hand. Together, they made their way over to the two tables, which were now covered in bright table-clothes and dishes, which had been brought out earlier by Ginny and Hermione.

Harry and Mo set the knives down just as Ron came around the corner, carrying some plates of food while Mrs. Weasley followed behind, levitating even more plates that floated in the air behind her like mice following the Pied Piper. With a swish of her wand, the plates settled themselves on the tables, which were soon groaning from the weight of the food.

Mr. Weasley arrived a moment later and conjured a hodgepodge of chairs to seat the twelve of them. Mo slid into a seat between Harry and Hermione and immediately began pulling food towards her. She loved Mrs. Weasley's cooking more than she loved her grandmothers – and that was saying something, considering her grandmother was a world-class chef, the one who her mother had studied under, consequently.

Mo once again decided to keep quiet and listen to what was going on around her. Down the table, Mrs. Weasley was fingering her wand and asking Bill if she could just trim his hair a little bit –to which Bill, Ginny and Mo gave a very firm no – while Ron, Charlie, Fred and George discussed the upcoming Quidditch match tomorrow.

Percy was talking pompously to Mr. Weasley and Hermione about his work with Mr. Crouch, and Mo shook her head, exasperated.

'I swear, one day I'm just going to cream him in the face, just to make him shut up for one moment!' Mo said to Harry, who snickered into his mashed potatoes.

'Why do you hate him so much?' he asked.

She shrugged. 'I don't know. There's just…something about him that drives me up the wall. He annoys me, kind of like how Malfoy annoys you, in your wee hate-mutual-hate-and-vindictiveness relationship you to have going on.'

Harry made a face and waved his forkful of mashed potatoes at her threateningly. 'Malfoy and I have absolutely no relationship whatsoever. We hate each other – that's it.'

Mo squinted one eye at him. 'You know, if you were gay, I bet you any money you'd get together with Malfoy.'

She laughed wildly as Harry promptly choked on his meat and had to take a long drink from his glass to clear his airways. He coughed and rubbed his watering eyes, glaring at her. 'What kind of sick joke is that?' he rasped. 'Malfoy and I would never get together, even if I was gay! Which I'm not, thank you very much.'

'Haven't you ever heard the phrase _opposites attract_?_'_' Mo asked rhetorically. 'You and Malfoy would "apparently" be the perfect couple, because you would balance each other out.'

'If that's your logic, than technically you and I would be the perfect couple,' said Harry.

Mo glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, trying hard not to blush. 'How so?' she asked.

'Well,' said Harry slowly, 'You speak your mind about people while I tend to only rant to you, Ron and Hermione. You're – generally – more calmer than I am and think before you act, while I –'

'Run blindly into things like the bold Gryffindor you are?' Mo said teasingly, reaching for some treacle and desserts that Mrs. Weasley had summoned to the table and piling it on her empty plate.

Harry laughed and took a scoop of pudding. 'Exactly. You love school and study hard, I hate school and don't – except when you and Hermione make me. We're both compassionate, athletic –'

'I get the point,' said Mo, smiling. 'So, by the definition of my rather disturbing pairing between you and Malfoy, we'd be the perfect couple?'

Harry stopped and stared at her, looking as if he had been hit with a bludger. Mo wondered absently if he finally realised exactly what they had been talking about. 'Yeah,' said Harry softly.

For a moment, Harry and Mo just stared at one another, the world falling quiet around them. The moment was broken by Mrs. Weasley standing up and dismissing the sleepy kids to bed. They jerked away as if burned, bright red and embarrassed. Standing up, they walked side by side to the Burrow, blushing each time their arms brushed and jumping away.

When Mo reached Ginny's door, she paused, and on a moment's snap decision threw her arms around Harry and hugged him. Pulling away, she proceeded to hug Ron and the twins too, just to make it less obvious that she had just wanted to hug Harry like she usually did without the weirdness.

'Good night all!' said Mo brightly, vanishing inside Ginny's room and shutting the door before they could see her scarlet face.

Hermione and Ginny were already sprawled in their beds, dressed in pajamas and sound asleep. Mo dressed in the dark and laid down, hand beneath her head, going over her and Harry's strange conversation in her head. His look of wonderment and surprise was frozen in her brain, and each time she replayed the scene, one little tweak made it all end in a very different way.

Suffice to say, it took Mo a long time to fall asleep that night.

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**notes:** sorry for the long wait, I had a writer's block and I haven't had any time to write until now. so, the boring part's over, and now on to the QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP AND HOGWARTS!

-NatrissaBelladonis

**edited: 31/07/12**


	4. portkeys and the quidditch world cup

**disclaimer**: mine, actually. well, moira, her family and all future oc's belong to me. harry potter belongs to the wonderful j.k.r  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to…whomever  
><strong>not<strong>**es**: just a quick note to R.C.D, who reviewed earlier: i am planning to go back eventually and write the first three years and, like you said, show the evolution of their friendship. if enough people ask for it, i might write them out after i finish this one, or, if not enough people want it, after years five-seven. but i WILL go back and write years 1-3. it's just a matter of when.

**title**: by trial of fire  
><strong>summary<strong>: its moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts, and with the rising threat of voldemort, the triwizard tournament and her strange dreams, this year's bound to be a doozy. Harry/OC

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**chapter three:  
>portkeys and the quidditch world cup<strong>

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Mo was awakened far too early the next morning by Mrs. Weasley's gentle but insistent shaking. 'Moira, dear, it's time to get up,' she said softly. 'Breakfast is waiting on the table.'

Mo blearily lifted her head from the depths of her pillow and squinted out Ginny's window. It was still dark outside; groaning softly, she let her face fall back down and prepared to go back to sleep for another hour or three. Mrs. Weasley tutted and banished Mo's covers off of her – the loss of her protection between the early morning chill and her warm body finally drove Mo out of bed.

Grumbling and still half-asleep, Mo grabbed the first clothes she could find from her trunk and stumbled into the bathroom. It took her a few minutes to realise she was trying to put a t-shirt on her foot, and another few minutes to completely tame her hair into some semblance of order (a.k.a. the messy bun, a girl's best friend).

Dumping her pajamas in her trunk and lethargically making the bed, Mo joined Fred and George on their quest downstairs for food and plunked herself in a seat beside Harry, who looked as awake as she was. Mo let her head slump onto the table, half-smiled as Harry moved her bowl of porridge away. A sudden thought occurred to Mo and she frowned, turning so her head was resting on the table, facing Harry.

'Harry, I have a very important question to ask you,' she said quietly, stifling a yawn.

He gave a grunt and spooned some porridge into his mouth. Mo took that as a sign to continue. 'What am I wearing?'

Harry looked at her out of the corner of one green eye, entirely too used to these random questions to be surprised. 'Jean capris, a black Weird Sisters t-shirt – didn't Ron get you that? –trainers and my red zip-up sweater you bought me for Christmas last year. Speaking of my sweater, why do you have it?'

'Because it's comfy and warm and because you gave it to me last year after I lost the sweater I had been wearing when that bloody tree attacked us. I forgot to return it.' Mo, feeling slightly more awake now, sat up and pulled her porridge towards her.

Ron chose that moment to slump into a seat next to Mo and grab the closest plate of food. He then proceeded to finish it in record time and go for seconds before Mo and Harry had even eaten half of their first servings. Mo eyed Ron in disgust. 'Do you even taste your food anymore?'

'Course I do,' scoffed Ron. 'Just … less than everyone else.'

'The day you taste your food is the day Snape declares his undying love for my mother,' said Harry with a smirk.

Mo snickered into her bowl, and Ron rolled his eyes at them as Harry and Mo exchanged high fives. Ginny and Hermione entered the kitchen just then, still half-asleep. Hermione slid into a seat next to Ron and yawned widely, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

Fred and George nudged some bowls towards the two girls and for a moment the entire kitchen was filled with the sounds of spoons clinking against the sides of bowls. Mrs. Weasley bustled in a few moments later, followed by Mr. Weasley, who already had a large, over-packed bag slung on his shoulders.

'Morning Weasley's! And guests,' he said brightly. 'If you're all fed, grab your bags and we'll head out! We've got a bit of a walk ahead of us.'

'Great. Excuse me while I find a container for my limitless joy at walking ten miles at five in the morning.' Mo grumbled as she got up from the table.

One by one, the others got up too and trudged wearily to their respective bedrooms to grab the rucksacks containing their things. Mo waited patiently for Hermione and Ginny, now slightly more awake than before, to gather their bags and the three girls linked arms and trooped downstairs in a tangle of limbs, giggles and a menagerie of colours to wait for the boys, who were already there, as it turned out.

Harry arched an eyebrow at Mo, who smiled brightly at him, while Ron, Fred and George just looked at them with a mixture of incredulity that they could actually walk like that and amusement at their tangled, laughing forms.

'Right then, off we go! We're meeting the Diggory's at Stoatshead Hill at six!' said Mr. Weasley brightly; glancing at the old pocket watch Mo had gotten him for Christmas last year.

Mo and the girls had just started to head for the door when Mrs. Weasley's cold voice stopped them. 'Fred! George!'

Everyone jumped and Hermione squeaked softly in surprise. George and Fred smiled sunnily, and Mo snorted. They weren't fooling anyone with their innocent act. 'What?' asked George?

'What's in your pocket?' asked Mrs. Weasley suspiciously.

'Nothing!'

'Don't lie to me! Accio! Accio! Accio!'

Mrs. Weasley jabbed her wand in the direction of the twins, and soon small, brightly wrapped objects – that looked suspiciously like candy – were flying from the oddest places, like the lining of Fred's jacket or the turn-ups of George's jean.

'We told you to destroy them!' Mrs. Weasley said furiously. 'We told you to get rid of the lot of them, especially after what happened to that poor Muggle boy!'

Mo leaned over and whispered to Harry, who was suddenly beside her and away from the wrath of Mrs. Weasley, 'Are those Ton Tongue Toffees?'

'Yeah, those are them,' Harry whispered back.

Mo grinned. 'Brilliant.'

'We worked hard on those!' Fred said angrily as he and George snatched at the toffees that were flying towards the garbage can that rested near Mo and Harry.

'Maybe if you hadn't been working on those useless candies you could have scored higher on your OWLs!' Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

While Mrs. Weasley laid into Fred and George, Mo snuck several toffees into her rucksack while pretending to tie her shoe. Harry, once he realized what she was doing, guarded her back like a fierce lion; Mo caught Hermione's eye and grinned lopsidedly. The brunette witch frowned disapprovingly, but Mo could see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Ginny noticed too and covertly flashed her thumbs up behind Hermione's back.

Aside from Harry, the boys remained blissfully unaware.

Once Mrs. Weasley had exhausted herself yelling at the twins, the eight of them trooped out of the house, decidedly more subdued than before. Mrs. Weasley kissed Mr. Weasley good-bye on the cheek and narrowed her eyes at Fred and George's retreating backs, 'Have a good time everyone,' she said with false cheer, 'and _behave yourselves!_'

Fred and George kept marching resolutely forwards, not even bothering to look back. As soon as they were out of eyesight from the Burrow, Mo released Ginny's arm (for the girls had joined arms again) and ran up ahead to where the Twins were muttering angrily to each other under their breaths.

'Hey,' she whispered, carefully slipping the candies out of her rucksack and into their palms. 'You owe me!'

George beamed at her and looped her in a one arm hug while Fred kissed her cheek. 'Many thanks, dear Katherina!' they said together.

Mo frowned. 'I'm calling in one favour. You can't call me Katherina for the rest of the summer. I'll think up my second one later.'

Their jaws dropped. 'But, we love calling you Katherina!' cried George.

'And what is all this about a second favour?' Fred asked.

She shrugged. 'There are two of you, which means double the favours since I risked my butt to get the candies for both of you.'

'Oh, you are sneaky,' they growled, and Mo smirked.

'I learnt from the best.'

Wiggling her fingers at them, she skipped back to where Ginny and Hermione were discussing the upcoming Quidditch match and was about to link her right arm with Ginny's when a warm arm slipped through her left. She turned her head and found Harry smiling mischievously at her, green eyes twinkling behind his slightly lopsided glasses.

'Is this your very forward way of offering to escort me, kind sir?' she asked playfully.

'Indeed it is, fair lady. But to be polite, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to Stoatshead Hill?' he asked, a grin quirking at his mouth as he struggled to remain composed and aloof.

Mo pretended to deliberate on it for a few moments before smiling. 'I do believe that would be delightful, sir.'

They linked arms again and walked forwards; Mo resolutely pretended not to hear Ron mutter to Hermione, 'Why don't they just hurry up and snog each other already?'

The comment made her cheeks turn pink, and a quick glance at Harry told her he had heard Ron as well. They walked in semi-awkward silence for a few minutes, before Harry suddenly turned to her. 'Hey, Mo, since you know everything –'

'I do not!'

'Well you might as well, you read as much as Hermione does –'

'I read romance, fantasy, sci-fi and the occasional history text or philosophy book, Harry, that doesn't mean I know everything.'

'You also read mystery, astronomy, geography, archaeology, travel, cultural books, cookbooks, books on Quidditch, books on various animals, potions books, tragedies, plays, poetry, western –'

'Ok, I get it I read a lot!' Mo laughed. 'But what makes you think I know everything?'

He shrugged and flashed a blinding smile. 'You just do. Anyway, we're getting off track. I was going to ask…' he flushed slightly, but seemed to almost shake it off. 'Are we walking to the World Cup or what?'

Mo blinked at him, opened her mouth to reply, and found herself cut off by Mr. Weasley, who called from the front, 'No, Harry, we're not walking. We're taking a portkey at Stoatshead with the Diggory's.'

Harry smiled and made a noise of affirmation, before ducking his head and whispering in Mo's ear, 'What's a portkey?'

She laughed. 'It's an enchanted object that is keyed on to a certain location. It usually has a timer – when the magic will activate – and when you touch it, it instantly transports you to whatever location you keyed into the magic. And the object can be anything: a book, a newspaper, an old boot, whatever a witch or wizard can get their hands on.'

'Oh,' Harry hummed in realization. 'Why couldn't we just apparate there? Apparation is one of the wizarding forms of transportation, right?'

'Yeah, but if I remember correctly, it's kind of like getting your Muggle driver's license. You have to train for it, and pass a test once you come of age.'

'Really? I didn't know that.' Harry looked surprised. 'Are you going to get your Muggle license?'

'Of course!' she looked affronted. 'I don't want to the only one of my friends that doesn't have a license! It's bad enough Milo'll be getting his license months before me…'

Harry laughed. 'How is Milo, by the way?'

'As nerdy as ever. Last I heard he was still hopelessly in love with Fiona, just like he's been since he was eight. It's very romantic.' She said.

Harry had met Milo – and the rest of Mo's colourful menagerie of friends - last summer, when he had blown up his Aunt Marge and ran away from the Dursleys. He had taken the Knight Bus – boy, she had a fun time explaining _that_ one to him – and ended up on her doorstep at one in the morning. She had made up the spare bedroom for him, got him settled and spent an hour the next day soothing the ruffled feathers of Zack, Milo and her other friends, who were very upset at some strange boy waltzing into _their_ Mo's life. Surprisingly, her parents had been pretty lenient about it.

Well, actually they hadn't been home enough to care.

They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, before Ginny and Hermione caught up with them and stole Mo away from Harry, leaving him behind with Ron. Mo, sandwiched between Ginny and Hermione, looked from one girl to the other.

'What's going on?' she asked as they started down the quite streets of Ottery St. Catchpole.

'You've been ignoring us, Moira,' said Hermione, sniffing imperiously.

'Yes. As your best female friends, we are truly offended!' Ginny tossed her red hair over her shoulder and grinned at Mo.

'I didn't mean to!' Mo said, realizing that she _had_ been basically ignoring them the whole way here. 'Harry and I just got talking, and he had some questions for me…'

'Yeah, yeah, we know,' Ginny flapped her hand. 'Sweet Merlin Mo, could you be any more obvious about your everlasting love for him?'

Mo turned an ungodly shade of red and spluttered indignantly as they started up the hill. 'I have no idea what you are talking about,' she choked out.

'Sure you don't,' said Hermione disbelievingly. 'You and Harry are like characters from one of my romance novels: star-crossed lovers, held back by their own obliviousness to each other's feelings, despairing that the other doesn't love them. It's so romantic!'

Blushing deeper, Mo ducked her head. 'Harry and I are just friends. Best friends, yes, very close friends, hell yes, but nothing more! He's…he's like my brother!'

Mo thought she hid the fact that the thought of Harry being her brother sickened her rather well.

Ginny's eyes twinkled. 'There is a such thing as incest you know.'

Hermione and Mo looked at her, shocked beyond believe. 'Ginerva Molly Weasley!' Hermione shrieked as Mo collapsed at the top of the hill in a fit of laughter. 'What on earth have you been reading?!'

The fiery red-head joined Mo on the ground at Hermione's outraged face, and they didn't stop laughing until Mr. Weasley and the boys came up over the side of the hill. The boys' breathing was slightly laboured, but poor Mr. Weasley was rather pink in the face. Taking out a pocket handkerchief, he mopped his thinning hair and tucked it away, pulling out his pocket watch instead.

'It's nearly time; I wonder where they are?' he said aloud.

'Arthur!' a loud voice boomed, and Mo spun around to see two tall figures coming over the other side of the hill. 'We've got it here, Arthur, not to worry!'

'Amos!' Mr. Weasley cried jovially, walking over to great the other man. They shook hands, smiling widely.

'It's about time you got here,' said Mr. Diggory, smiling widely. 'Long walk?'

'It wasn't too bad,' replied Mr. Weasley. 'Oh, everyone, this is Amos Diggory. He works with me at the Ministry, in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. And I'm sure you know his son, Cedric?'

Cedric was a tall, very handsome boy of about seventeen, with dark brown hair and light grey eyes. He was a Hufflepuff, and captain of the Quidditch team. He said hi, and everyone said hi back except for Fred and George, who only nodded. Mo snorted; they never got over Cedric beating the Gryffindor team last year. Harry seemed to like Cedric well enough, until the boy noticed Mo and, smiling brightly, wandered over to her.

If Mo had been watching, she would have noticed his expression take on the tint of one who had drank sour milk.

Mo, oblivious to this, smiled at the older boy. 'Hello Ced how was your summer?' she asked, hugging him.

'Good, rather embarrassing though,' said Cedric, running a hand through his hair. 'You remember that Quidditch game, where the Dementors came, making Harry fall off us broom and allowing Hufflepuff to win? Well, my dad won't stop talking about it. He tells everyone we meet, and while I love how proud he is of me, I wish he would listen to me and stop. It wasn't a fair win.'

'You won fair and square,' Mo frowned. 'Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Damn Hufflepuffs, you're nobler than us hard-headed Gryffindor's!'

Cedric laughed, and Mo grinned widely as Ginny and Hermione's faces turned pink at the sound. She wouldn't deny, her study partner was a very attractive person, but he wasn't her type. She'd met him in her first year. Some older Slytherins had hexed her bag and caused it to rip. He had helped her collect her stuff and took her to a classroom just off the library, where a group of rag-tag people from all the houses, of all ages, got together to study and chat.

Mr. Weasley led Amos over to the others, and Mo turned to scrutinize the man who was making one of her friends uncomfortable. He was a ruddy-faced wizard with a scruffy brown beard, short stature and dark green eyes, so unlike his tall, grey-eyed son. Amos eyed them all with a pleasant sort of curiosity. 'You must have gotten off easy; didn't have to get up to early, able to afford all those tickets. Ced and I had to get up at two, didn't we son – still, wouldn't miss this for a bag of gold Galleons – which is about what the tickets cost, mind you. Are they all yours, Arthur?'

'Oh no, just the red-heads,' said Mr. Weasley. 'These three are Ron's friends – my youngest son's. Hermione Granger, Moira O'Shea and Harry Potter.'

'I know Moira, hello miss, Ced talks about you a lot –'

'Dad!' Cedric hissed, turning faintly pink.

'-it's nice to finally put a face to the name – why _did_ you never invite her over, Ced, your mother would love to meet her – oh, hello, nice to meet you Ms. Granger, and – oh my word – Harry. Harry Potter?'

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Mo frowned. 'Yes, sir.'

'Great, great to meet you son!' Amos boomed, shaking Harry's hand rather roughly. 'Ced's talked about you, of course. Told his mother and me all about how he played against you last year – I said to him, that'll be one to tell the grandkids, Ced – you beat _Harry Potter_!'

Harry gave Amos a thin, uncomfortable smile as Cedric went bright red. Mo frowned even deeper and marched over to Amos and Harry. 'I think you can let go of him now,' she said coldly.

Amos looked at her in surprise. 'Pardon me, Miss O'Shea, but I really –'

'It was an accident Dad,' Cedric interrupted, saving Mo and Harry. His face was still quite red. 'Harry fell off his broom. He was the better flier; he would have won if the Dementors hadn't shown up –'

'Ah, but you didn't fall off your broom, now did you Ced, so who is really the better flier here?!' Amos cried, clapping his son on the back. Cedric was starting to look slightly pissed off, and Mo slid her hand into Harry's as he tensed.

He squeezed her hand in thanks and she shot him a small smile. She didn't like this pompous man either; he surely meant well, and though first impressions are often deceiving, she had to admit, this ranked way up with Malfoy on the scale of 'Horrible First Impressions of Epic Proportions.'

'Dad, leave it be…' Cedric hissed.

'Always modest, our Ced!' Amos smiled genially at his son, and Mo noticed that Fred and George were beginning to look quite murderous.

Mr. Weasley noticed too, and quickly stepped in. 'Well, I do think it's nearly time, Amos. Are we waiting for anything else?' his hands twitched nervously, and he pulled out his pocket watch for lack of anything better to do.

'No, no,' said Mr. Diggory. 'The Lovegoods went there a week early and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets. I don't think there are any more of us in the area, are there old boy?'

'Not that I know of,' hummed Mr. Weasley. 'Alright you lot, gather round, and place a finger on the boot. Just a finger, mind you - we need room for everyone!'

Harry gave Mo a quizzical look as they all gathered around the manky old boot Amos Diggory had been carrying in his hand. 'How do you know Cedric?' he whispered in her ear as they squeezed in and put a finger on the boot.

'Remember how I told you about that group I go to study with twice a week, or hang out with on the weekends sometimes?' Harry nodded in acknowledgement.

'Well, Ced's the one who introduced me to it. Its thanks to him I have friends in every house, in every year. Makes it very easy to spread rumors or stop them,' she said teasingly.

Harry didn't really focus on what she said, so much as he focused on the fact Mo had called him _Ced_. She had a _nickname_ for him! Granted, Cedric's father and probably most of his friends called him that too, but that didn't mean Mo had to.

Harry opened his mouth and prepared to bombard Mo with more questions when he suddenly felt as if he had been hooked somewhere behind his navel. He jerked forwards as the hill disappeared in a swirl of colours, banging shoulders with Mo and Ron as they all knocked about in the force of the magic.

Mo was shrieking with glee while Hermione and Ginny screamed in a mixture of horror and surprise. This was absolutely insane and crazy fun to Mo. _It's like being on a roller coaster, only better_! She thought happily.

With a grunt, she slammed feet-first into the ground and toppled over as the magic of the portkey faded away now that they had reached her destination. Propping herself up on her elbows, she surveyed the hodgepodge of bodies spread across the grass, everyone groaning in a mixture of nausea and pain. Cedric, Mr. Diggory and Mr. Weasley were the only ones still standing.

Cedric smiled at her and offered her his hand, which she gladly took. He hauled her to her feet and with a quiet thanks, she turned to Harry and offered him her hand. He grasped it firmly with his hand, and with a sharp tug, Mo hauled him to his feet. As she pulled him up, Mo felt her feet lose traction on the slick, dewy grass, and with a yelp she was down again, pulling Harry with her.

She landed flat on her back with a muffled _oof_, and suddenly found her view of the bright blue sky blocked by a pair of emerald eyes hidden by glasses. She and Harry were nose to nose; her sprawled out under him and he flat against her, held up lopsidedly by one fully-extended arm and one elbow. His messy bangs tickled her forehead, and Mo couldn't help but turn bright red under his scrutiny.

'Um, are you alright Harry?' she asked, her voice – thankfully – coming out calmer and more playful than she expected.

'I'm fine,' he mumbled after a pause. His scent washed across her when he moved to get off; a curious mixture of soap, warm sheets fresh from the dryer and the musky fragrance of his cologne.

Mo turned pinker, if possible, and moved to get up herself when Harry's hand was suddenly waving in her face. She glanced up at him and decided to burst the uncomfortable air between them. 'Are you trying to make me fall again, Potter?' she teased.

He smiled back at her, his tense stance relaxing as he shoved one hand in his pocket. 'Only if I'm there to catch you,' he replied.

Ignoring the quickening of her heartbeat, Mo grasped his warm hand and allowed herself to be tugged into a standing position for the second time that day. 'Thank you!' she chirped.

Harry just smiled and they set off after the group, which – to Mo's surprise – hadn't noticed their little romance-book-moment. They caught up to them just as they rounded the corner of the forest they had appeared in, and Mo arched an eyebrow in surprise at the little cottage that stood a ways away. A man, obviously a Muggle, stood on the porch, arms crossed and face stern.

'Um, why is a Muggle officiating the Quidditch World Cup?' she whispered to Harry.

'I dunno. There's probably a wizard or witch around here somewhere. They wouldn't leave him unattended.' He said.

They came up to the wizard just as the Diggory's were moving away, having already paid what they owed. 'See you later, Arthur old boy!' called Mr. Diggory.

Cedric waved at Mo, who smiled and waved back. Seeing this, Harry scowled inwardly and moved minutely closer, shoving both hands in his pockets and frowning in Cedric's direction. Mo noticed and shoved him lightly. 'Lighten up, he's not my type for a best friend or otherwise.' She said, walking over to Hermione, who was trying to help Mr. Weasley get the muggle money together.

'Wait, you have a type?'

Mo snorted as Hermione giggled, making Harry go bright red in embarrassment. 'Yes, Harry I have a type. All girls do.'

'But you've never had a boyfriend before!' Ron protested, joining in on the conversation as Mr. Weasley went to talk to the Muggle man.

'Oh, dear brother, that –' said Fred, popping up behind Mo.

'-Is where you are wrong!' finished George.

'Mo would have told us if she'd had a boyfriend!' Harry protested.

'I don't have to tell you everything! Some things are privy to girls only,' huffed Mo, crossing her arms over her chest. 'But for your information, I did have a boyfriend.'

Ron and Harry gaped at her. 'When?!'

'Last year. We dated for four months; I introduced him to you guys, remember? The Hufflepuff boy I brought to the Christmas party - Will Evans.'

'A Hufflepuff? You dated a Hufflepuff?' Ron squawked. Harry fumed; he remembered Will. Tall, blonde, charming, intelligent and a year older, he was one of the most popular guys at Hogwarts, and also one of the nicest. Like a regular king or something.

'There is nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, Ron!' Hermione said crossly. 'I for one was happy for Moira. Not only did he make her happy, but she also stepped across House boundaries. Her previous relationship with Will and her study group is a great example of what the entire school should be doing!'

'Dating Hufflepuffs?' Ron looked aghast at the very thought, and Hermione frowned.

'No, Ron, I mean forging strong inter-house relationships, instead of just relationships inside your own house.'

'Who'd want to form 'inter-house relationships' with the Slytherins?' Ron protested.

'Oi, watch it on the Slytherin bashing, some of my closest friends are Slytherins!' said Mo. 'They're not all bad Ron. Just because Malfoy and his goonies are arrogant pricks with sticks shoved so far up their asses they can't see straight doesn't mean the rest of the house is like that.'

'Oh yeah? Name one Slytherin who is even half-way decent!' Ron challenged. Harry couldn't help himself; he nodded in agreement.

'I can name three,' she replied, holding up three fingers and ticking them down as she said the names. 'Genevieve, Lucinda, Alasdair.'

'Who?' said Harry?

'Those people I introduced you to at the Christmas party. The one I invited you to that my study group threw? Genevieve was the blonde, Lucinda was the red-headed American and Alasdair was the black-haired boy. Didn't you pay attention?'

'Oh, that really good-looking bloke that was by the punch bowl?' Ginny chattered excitedly. 'I danced with him! He was really nice.'

Harry chose not to comment on the fact that he had been more preoccupied with both the threat of Sirius Black looming over his head and on how nice Mo had looked in her red dress than on introductions. Ron's face, however, cleared in realization.

'Oh, well they're alright. I mean, you're friends with them, aren't you? I still don't like Slytherins, but maybe…' he looked ill, but continued anyways. 'Maybe they're not…all bad.'

Mo looked at Ron in astonishment, before throwing her arms around his neck. 'Ron, you do care!' she cried dramatically, making Ron's ears burn red as he patted her awkwardly on the back.

'Err, your welcome?' he muttered.

Fred and George began cat-calling, but Hermione, Ginny and Mo put a quick stop to it with one fiery look from Ginny. Mr. Weasley chose that moment to walk over, looking rather startled. 'Right, well we have our map. Let's go.'

Mo looked back at the Muggle man, only to find him standing in front of a stressed looking wizard, a goofy smile on his face. She nudged Hermione, who glanced back and nodded. 'Memory Modification. He must own the land here, and they must be protecting the Statue of Secrecy,' she explained.

Nodding, Mo linked arms with the three girls again as they trekked up yet another hill. Excited yells behind them caused them all to duck, but Mo was too slow. She felt someone grab the back of her backpack and hoist her onto the broom in front of them.

With a scream of shock, Mo twisted around, ready to pummel the punk who had grabbed her, only to find dark eyes twinkling at her from under messy dark hair. 'Edmund!' she cried, 'you stupid tosspot, what the hell was that for?'

'I haven't seen ye in months, and all ye can say is, 'ye stupid tosspot, what the hell?' Not even a hello? How is that for gratitude, mates!' he cried theatrically to his friends, who all snickered. Mo waved at Carmen, Edmund's best friend, who was floating on a broom nearby. She gave Mo a wide smile and floated over.

'Hello, lady. How are you?' Carmen wrapped Mo in a hug, squeezing her broom with her thighs expertly. That's what you get from one of the best chasers on the Hufflepuff team.

'I'm good!' she smiled at her Spanish study friend. 'How are you? How was your summer?'

'Oi, excuse me, I think yer forgettin' one very important person!' Edmund cried indignantly.

Mo beamed and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking the both of them off the broom. 'It's great to see you, Ed. How've you been?'

'I've been good. I have this great story to tell ye – ye see, I was travellin' with me Uncle Duncan, ye know, the famous explorer? Anyway, we went to Iceland, and found –'

'Mo!' Harry yelled from below. 'Are you alright?'

'I'm fine!' she yelled back, and turned to talk to him when something green caught her eye. Turning, Mo let her jaw drop, and mentally reminded herself to thump Edmund hard later when he started laughing at her face.

Tents stretched out in the small valley as far as the eye could see. One side seemed to contain a multitude of green tents – the Irish, no doubt – while another section was dark red – the Bulgarian fans. Thousands of witches and wizards walked among the tents, looking like ants from her height.

Mo laughed in delight and turned to look down at Harry, pointing towards the fields of tents. Everyone, who had been watching her and Edmund, turned and soon wore expressions similar to her own, even the magical-raised Weasley's. She smiled down at Harry, who turned to look at her, utterly gobsmacked.

'Welcome to the Quidditch World Cup, mates!'

.

.

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**notes: **don't worry about remembering all about alasdair, genevieve, etc now. they'll come up again soon; they're people who belong to mo's study group, and my oc's. i'll introduce them all slowly, and if enough reviewers want it, i'll post a page on my profile that will link to their bio's. please don't steal my ideas or my oc's.

anyway, enjoy. next chapter is the actual quidditch world cup, and the introduction of the third oc you will meet, who will play a big part in the story. the rest of her study group will be introduced later on.

it would make me very happy if you would leave a review, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter! and yes, i typed ed's Scottish accent but not mo's because mo speaks a lot and that would be rather tiresome, whereas ed only has a few lines.


	5. mo has a type and harry is not amused

**disclaimer**: mine, actually. well, moira, her family and all future oc's belong to me. harry potter belongs to the wonderful j.k.r  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to…whomever  
><strong>not<strong>**es**: welcome to chap-i-tair FOUR of **by trial of fire**. i am having a lot of fun with this story, let me tell you. i have some very interesting things planned, yup *nods head*

**title**: by trial of fire  
><strong>summary<strong>: its moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts, and with the rising threat of voldemort, the triwizard tournament and her strange dreams, this year's bound to be a doozy. Harry/OC

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**chapter four  
>in which mo has a type and harry is not amused<strong>

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'Mo! Hold on to the damn broom, ye eejit! Do ye want to fall to yer death and go splat on the ground like a pancake?'

Edmund wrapped an arm around Mo's waist as she pitched forwards, howling with laughter at the looks on the faces of the Weasley's, Hermione and Harry. The assortment of teenagers below looked like someone who had just run into a brick wall and, in their daze, ended up staring at the wall in shock, wondering how it got there.

In essence, they looked completely gobsmacked, and Mo had never seen anything funnier.

'S-Sorry,' she sputtered as Edmund slowly began lowering them to the ground. 'It's just, they looked so funny -' Mo caught sight of Ron's face, seemingly permanently frozen in an expression of intense surprise and burst out laughing again.

Edmund carefully swung off the broom a few feet above the grass and lifted her off, setting her on her feet beside him. The moment her shoes hit the wet grass, she collapsed in a giggling heap of red sweater and jeans, making Edmund shake his head in exasperation.

He turned to Harry, and pointed at Mo. 'Take care of her. She'll come round soon; these episodes never last long.'

Harry gave the other boy a weird look, at last tearing his gaze away from the sea of tents in the field. 'I know. She's my best friend.'

'I'm just sayin'.' Edmund held up his hands in an 'I-am-unarmed-and-come-in-peace-please-don't-shoot' gesture and swung back up on his broom. 'Oi, Mo, try and meet up with me later, aye? We need to catch up.'

Mounting his broom again, he pushed off and was up in the air again. In a matter of moments, Edmund, Carmen and the others with him were mere specks in the distance.

Scowling minutely at their retreating backs, Harry squatted down beside Mo and poked her. 'Oi, short shit, are you done yet or are you going to stay down there all day?'

Mo stopped laughing at Harry's sentence and glared up at him. 'I am not a short shit you numpty!' she cried angrily, making Harry shrug and smirk.

'You're shorter than me, and, coincidently, shorter than the majority of the people here. So, by default, you are a short shit. Deal with it.' Mo growled at Harry and yanked on his shirt to haul herself up, landing him face-first in the grass.

'Serves you right, you prat.' She stuck her nose in the air and flounced – literally flounced – over to Ron, Ginny and Hermione, who were giving her odd looks.

'Hey, come help me up!' Harry called, and Mo turned briefly to stick her tongue out at him.

'No. I'm just a short shit, I couldn't possibly help someone as tall and fantastic as you,' she sniped, turning back around. 'Get yourself up, arsehole.'

Harry sighed and heaved himself to his feet. Dusting the grass off his shorts and sweater, he snuck up behind Mo and pinched her sides, right where she was most ticklish. Mo yelped and jumped about a foot in the air, scared out of her wits.

'HARRY JAMES POTTER! YOU NUMPTY WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!' she hollered, one hand on her pounding heart and the other braced on her hips.

He didn't answer, merely smiled and spun her around, latching on to her from behind. One of his arms wrapped around her upper chest, just below her clavicle, while the other snaked around her waist. He pulled her to him and rested his chin on her shoulder, laughing. Mo twisted and tried to elbow him, but he just used the arm around her waist to pin her arms to her sides.

Finally, Mo ran out of steam. 'Let me go,' she said tiredly.

'Nope.'

'I have every right to be mad. You insulted my height. I'm not even that short. I'm just shorter than you.'

'I'm still not letting go.'

'Harry Potter, let me go or so help me god I will go all fiery Scots woman on your arse.'

'Will you stop being mad at me?'

'…yes.'

'Alright.' Harry let Mo go and stepped back, coming up beside her and draping an arm across her shoulders.

Mo rolled her eyes. Hermione and Ginny began to giggle, and Mo shot them a poisonous glare that just made them laugh all the harder. Really, why didn't anyone get the fact that her and Harry were just best friends, mates! Not dating material!

'Alright kids, let's go! It's a bit of a walk to the tent – we're pitched almost directly beside the forest, the closest you can get to the Pitch!' Mr. Weasley said boisterously, coming up to the group. Mo linked hands with Harry to make walking less awkward and set off behind the Weasley patriarch.

'Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to Quidditch we go!' Mo sang cheerfully, swinging her and Harry's joined hands and choosing to forget her previous anger at Harry and the teasing of the others in favor of watching the chaos that was the Quidditch World Cup.

There were people everywhere! There were men and women both older than her and younger than her, and from cultures ranging from Africa to China to America. Mo spotted a group of young witches, about her age, sitting around a fire underneath a sign that proclaimed, loudly and in vibrant purple lettering, the Salem Witches Institute.

People were flying on brooms overhead, and nearly everyone seemed to already be up and about. An excited buzz hung in the air, which swelled with the shouts of thousands of voices. Hermione was chattering on about the Salem Witches – of which Harry and Ron had asked about – when Mo spotted a bunch of dark-skinned wizards in green and gold robes gathered around a purple flame.

'Okay, that is cool!' she exclaimed, pointing at the fire. 'I wonder where they're from.'

'I don't know,' said Hermione irritably, miffed at being interrupted. 'Why don't you go ask them?'

'Um…sure. I mean the most they can do is say "no, get away ye weird midget", so…here I go! Watch my back!' Mo grinned at Hermione, and before anyone could stop her, marched over to the wizards and stuck out her hand to the tallest one.

'Uh, hujambo!' Mo said, going out on a limb and saying hello in Swahili. 'I'm Moira – Moira O'Shea, but you can just call me Mo. It's nice to meet you!'

At first no one moved. They stared at her with those dark, bottomless eyes, until she began to feel uncomfortable and shifted. Just as she was contemplating fleeing in embarrassment, the tallest man shook her hand and repeated her greeting. 'I am Abasi. It is an honor to meet you as well.'

He spoke in heavily accented English, but his voice was smooth and deep, and he didn't turn her away. Mo liked him immediately. 'I was just wondering,' she said after she shook hands with the other five men – and one teenage boy a few years older than her – 'Where are you guys from?'

'We are from Tanzania, in Central Africa,' Akida, Abasi's son, said eagerly. 'It is very different here; Britain is very nice.'

'I prefer hotter countries, personally, but yeah, it's pretty nice for a rainy country,' Mo replied. 'Have you ever been to Scotland? I live there, and go to school there – at Hogwarts. It's gorgeous.'

'No, I have not, but I might be at Hogwarts later on this year. My father and I, we are dignitaries for the –'

Abasi cleared his throat and gave Akida a warning look. Akida looked down and smiled sheepishly. 'Sorry, Father.'

'Wait, dignitaries for what? What are you dignitaries for?' Mo asked.

'My father is Minister for Magic,' Akida explained, 'And…I cannot tell you.'

'Oh…well, that's alright,' she said, smiling to hide her disappointment. 'Maybe I'll see you later! Here,' reaching into her pack, she pulled out a piece of parchment and a pen and scribbled her name and address on it. 'Write to me! I'd like to get to know you better, but I have to go now. I think my friends are gonna kill me soon.'

Akida accepted the paper and inclined his head regally. 'It was nice meeting you, Moira O'Shea.'

'Nice meeting you too, Akida! Bye Asabi thanks for putting up with me!' Mo called, running over to where her friends waited, staring at her with expressions of mixed incredulity and amusement.

'Um…sorry,' she said sheepishly. The twins burst out laughing and looped their arms around her shoulders as they started walking again.

'You, my dear Katherina-' said George.

'-are a singularly gifted person,' finished Fred.

'Why?' Mo asked, confused.

'That was the African Minister for Magic,' explained Ginny. 'He never talks to anyone from other countries – not even Fudge. He's very stoic, and extremely protective of his son, Akida. You just waltzed in, shook his hand, and befriended his son, all without him blowing your head off. That's pretty amazing.'

'Wow,' Mo blinked in surprise. 'Asabi's actually a hard-arse? But he seemed so nice!'

'You're on a first name basis with him!?'

'Well, that's what he introduced himself as! Maybe it's because I said hello in Swahili instead of English. Embraced his culture instead of making him embrace mine,' Mo said thoughtfully.

'How do you know Swahili?' Harry asked from behind her.

Mo looked at him over her shoulder. 'Um, my parents travelled a lot – still do actually- , and brought me with them when I was younger – but only after I turned seven. Before that it was just during the summers, and they had nannies tutor me in other languages during the year. I guess they wanted a genius child or something. Anyway, once when I was eight we went to Congo, and I was taught a little bit of Swahili by the local girls.'

'Oh!' Hermione said suddenly. 'I meant to ask; how was your trip to France!'

'It was beautiful!' Mo smiled enthusiastically, and the two girls started comparing their trips to France.

Getting to the tent area seemed to take forever. It was as though every few feet, Mo saw someone she knew who then came up to her and said hello. So far, they'd met some girls and guys from France she had met earlier in the summer, an Irish musician, two loud Italian boys, some very nice and beautiful girls from Canada that made Harry and Ron drool, more kids from her study group and an interesting group of teenagers from New York City.

'How on earth do you know these people?' Ron asked after the NYC kids left.

'I travel and say hello to people,' Mo replied smartly. 'And I kind of yelled at over half of them for pissing me off, and then forgave them and we ended up friends!'

'You're weird,' Harry said flatly.

'Piss off, Potter!'

Fortunately, after the NYC kids, they didn't run into anymore of Mo's friends, and arrived at the campsite within another five minutes. 'Ah, isn't this lovely!' Mr. Weasley said, dropping his back and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his balding spot. 'Look at that! The pitch is right over there! One of the closest spots possible!'

Everyone oohed and aahed at the glimmering gold pitch that was visible just over the tops of the trees – everyone, that is, except Mo. She jumped and tried to see, but ended up huffing in annoyance.

'I can't see! George, bend down, I need to get on your shoulders,' Mo ordered.

'Don't knee me in the face, whatever you do,' George joked as he bent down and let Mo sit on his shoulders.

'Don't drop me and I won't,' she joked. 'Hey, I can see the top of the pitch! That is so cool!'

'Are you enjoying being tall, Moira?' Mr. Weasley laughed.

'Mr. Weasley! Not you too! I'm not short; you're all just too tall! I'm basically the same height as Hermione!' she whined. 'How come everyone makes fun of my height!?'

'Um…because you're a midget?' Ron suggested.

'I AM NOT A MIDGET! I AM AVERAGE!'

'Yes, dear,' said Harry tiredly as George put Mo back on the ground.

Mo huffed at him again as Mr. Weasley held the flap of their already-pitched tent up. Everyone filed in, including Mr. Weasley, leaving Harry and Mo standing outside the tent. They looked apprehensively at each other, and then back at the tent. 'Magic?' Mo asked. She hadn't read much about magical tents yet.

'Guess we'll find out,' replied Harry. He took her hand and smiled.

She smiled back and as one they ducked into the tent. Mo felt her jaw drop as she stared around the tent. It was as large as your average sized flat, with three bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room area set two steps down in the middle. George and Fred were sitting with their feet propped on the table, Mr. Weasley was checking the tent, Ron was on one of the bunk beds laughing as Ginny and Hermione had a mock pillow fight.

'I love magic,' Harry breathed, and Mo laughed.

'So do I.'

Mo grinned mischievously at Harry, dropped his hand and took off running. 'I CALL TOP BUNK!'

'You bugger!' Harry yelled, tearing after her. 'That's not fair!'

'Is too! You're just slow when you're not on a broom,' Mo called.

Harry growled and reached out, snagging her around the waist and pulling her back. 'No! My bunk! I called dibs!' Mo shrieked, throwing her pack forwards and attempting to follow it with her body.

'No way!' Harry yelled back, and with a tremendous heave, he pulled Mo back.

The momentum sent the two of them tumbling down the two steps into the living room area. Harry tried to stay upright, but forgot about the couch. The backs of his knees crashed into the arm, sending him sprawling as Mo landed on top of him.

'Prat,' she huffed, chin pressed into Harry's sternum.

'Midget.'

'Ass.'

'Klutz.'

They both stared at each other and suddenly burst out laughing. Mo rolled off Harry and onto the floor, clutching her sides. She distinctly heard Ron say, 'Seriously, when are they going to stop living in denial and just snog each other!' but she ignored him for the time being.

When her and Harry finally calmed down, Mo allowed him to help her off the floor and ran over to pick up her pack. She tossed it on the top bunk and went to follow Mr. Weasley outside, who was mumbling something about needing water.

As she passed Ron, she smacked him over the head hard, making him yelp. 'What was that for?' he asked crossly.

'There is nothing going on between Harry and I. Shut up. I would never risk losing his friendship for something as fleeting as dating,' She said primly, before exiting the tent.

She completely missed Harry's longing look after her, but by the time he came outside to join her, it had vanished, as if it had never been there in the first place.

.

.

.

'Alright, we just need some water to start the breakfast and then we can relax until the game!' said Mr. Weasley happily, checking his pocket watch. 'Bill, Charlie and Percy should be here in about a half hour.'

'We'll go get water,' Mo volunteered, grabbing the bucket in one hand.

'We will?' Ron asked from his spot beside the fire-pit. 'I'm tired of walking.'

'Suck it up, sweetheart,' Mo said flatly. 'C'mon! I promised Edmund I'd meet him later!'

Harry scowled faintly, but smiled at Mo when she looked pleadingly at him. 'Fine, I'll go with you. C'mon Ron,' he nudged the red-head with his toe, 'Get up.'

Ron groaned loudly and heaved himself to his feet. 'I hate you both,' he informed them sullenly as Hermione joined them, her little purse hanging off one shoulder. 'We'll be back soon, Dad.'

'Have fun kids!' Mr. Weasley called distractedly. He was currently knelt in front of the fire-pit, a box of matches in his hands. He was trying to light a fire and failing miserably, because every time he lit a match, he got so excited he dropped it and it went out again.

'I love your dad, Ron,' Mo commented as they walked through the crowds. 'He's adorable with his Muggle fascination.'

'Bloody embarrassing, that's what he is,' Ron replied. 'There's nothing cute about him.'

'Oh, he is too cute. And besides, he's your dad. It's in his job description to be embarrassing.' Mo idly swung the bucket back and forth, whistling an upbeat, foreign sounding tune.

Harry came up beside her and linked his fingers with hers. 'What song is that?' he asked.

Mo stopped whistling and turned to look at him. 'It's called The Lion Sleeps Tonight. It's from a Muggle movie called 'The Lion King'. Bloody fantastic movie; I saw it during the week I was home with Milo and the others. It just came out.'

'I haven't seen that movie,' Harry commented.

'That's because you have no culture.'

'Shut up, Mo.'

'Bite me.'

Mo started singing the words to the song – they made absolutely no sense to Harry – but fell silent as they walked up quietly behind Hermione and Ron, who were bickering loudly about something. Mo began humming a different tune under her breath, and Harry suppressed a smile. They were content, in their own little bubble, until Hermione squealed.

'Mo, look!' she pointed to a stand containing a lot of lop-sided, strange looking things that somewhat resembled binoculars. 'They're called Omnioculars! They're like Muggle binoculars, except they have all these extra features; they can freeze what your viewing, rewind and replay moves, zoom in, take a picture, and they read off the names of the players for you.'

'That is so cool!' Mo dragged Harry over to the stand as she let go of his hand to pick up a pair. 'And freakishly expensive,' she wrinkled her nose as she spotted the price and delicately put the Ominoculars back.

Hermione and Mo moved on to the next stand, browsing the racks of clothes and trinkets and talking animatedly about who they thought would win the game that night. Ron gazed mournfully at the Omnioculars and moved to join them when Harry grabbed his arm and dragged him back. 'Four pairs, please,' he told the vendor firmly, reaching into his jacket pocket for the bottomless bag of gold Mrs. Weasley had gotten out for him the day before.

'Harry, really, you don't need to do that,' Ron protested, his ears turning red in embarrassment.

'Well, I want to, so just accept my generosity – and the knowledge that you won't be getting a Christmas or birthday present this year – and take it like a man,' Harry grinned and shoved a pair of Omnioculars in Ron's hands.

Ron grinned. 'Thanks mate.'

'Don't mention it,' Harry replied, walking over to where the girls were browsing through racks of both Muggle and Magical clothes emblazoned in either Bulgarian or Irish colours, or a picture of one of the players on the team with their team logo on the front.

Harry presented Hermione with her Omnioculars – which got him a loud squeal and a bone-crushing hug – and then headed over to where Mo was trying on a green sweater with the image of a Leprechaun and the names of the Irish team emblazoned in gold on the back.

'Hey! Doesn't this look cool!?' she asked, holding the sweater up. 'I think I'm going to get it. It's only a galleon and six sickles…'

She caught sight of the Omnioculars in his hand and her jaw dropped. 'Oh – what – oh, you didn't. HARRY! Those were so expensive! And you bought four didn't you?'

Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and Mo smiled. 'That is so completely you it's funny.'

He held them out to her and she took them, tucking them in her backpack and smiling gratefully. 'Thank you very much,' she said. 'Now! I'll go pay for this and then we'll go get the water…or shop more.'

By the time the quartet set off again, Mo was wearing her new Irish sweater with Harry's red sweater folded and tucked safely into her bag, Harry and Ron had bought dancing rosettes that squeaked out the Irish team player's names and hats (Irish for Harry, Bulgarian for Ron), Hermione had bought an Irish-coloured scarf and a small Bulgaria flag. Mo had started to complain about the sun and was now wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap with her ponytail sticking out the back.

They walked along for a while, money-bags considerably lighter, talking about the games until suddenly Ron stopped and blinked. 'Whoa. Is it just me or is everything suddenly green?'

'I think we're in the Irish section. You might want to hide your Bulgarian things; Irish fans hate the Bulgarians.' Mo advised, waving at a group of little kids who were giggling and pointing at her baseball cap.

Ron and Hermione quickly hid their Bulgarian things and they walked in silence for a while, admiring the tents. Some of them had weather vanes; others had gardens complete with birdbaths. But every single tent had some short of shamrock or growth on them. A lot of tents looked like large mounds of grass – 'Faery hills,' Mo explained. 'The Irish have some of the richest folklore out of all the European countries in regards to the fair folk' - with doors and chimneys.

Mo had just finished explaining the concept of Fair Folk to Ron when a loud voice called out her name. She turned and grinned widely.

'Seamus Finnegan, me Irish mate, how are ye?' she called in a rather accurate impersonation of an Irish accent. It still sounded faintly Scottish though.

Seamus, Harry's sandy-haired roommate from Hogwarts, was sitting outside one of the shamrock-covered tents with a woman who could only be his mother and his best friend, Dean Thomas. He waved wildly and Mo ran over to give them both hugs.

'Hello, Mrs. Finnegan, I'm Moira O'Shea, Seamus and Dean's friend from school. And these are our other friends – Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.'

To Mrs. Finnegan's credit, she didn't react to Harry's name. 'A pleasure to meet yeh,' she said happily. 'Seamus has told me so much about yeh! Are yeh excited for the game?'

'Yes ma'am, we are,' said Ron respectfully. 'I think it's going to be a bloody – sorry, I mean a good game.' His ears turned red in embarrassment and he fell silent.

Mrs. Finnegan smiled at Ron and turned to Mo. 'O'Shea…is that Irish? And yet yeh have a Scottish accent?'

'Yes ma'am,' Mo grinned. 'Most of my family lives in Ireland; we visit them every summer. But I was born in Inverness, Scotland, and lived there exclusively until I was seven. It's just a matter of hometown pride that I still have the accent.'

'Well, yeh should stop by the next time yer in the country. I'm sure Seamus will give yeh our address, right?' she asked her son, who grinned and nodded. 'So, I'm assuming yer supportin Ireland?'

They all nodded and gave various murmurs of assent…and then, Hermione spoke up. 'Um, Mrs. Finnegan, if you don't mind my asking…isn't it breaking the Statue to decorate your tents like this? I mean, what about the Muggle's running the place. Won't they notice?'

Mrs. Finnegan waved her hand dismissively. 'Oh, the Ministry will handle the Muggle's. And really, don't we deserve to display our national pride,' She sniffed angrily. 'Yeh should see what the Bulgarians have got all over _their_ tents. Disgraceful.'

Mo cautiously steered conversation away from the Bulgarians and after exchanging a few more pleasantries, the two groups parted ways. 'Hermione,' said Mo. 'Next time, don't mention about the Statue. Not many wizards care about it.'

'But they should!' Hermione said shrilly. 'It's against the law! If Muggle's found out –'

'Then the Ministry would have their memories modified,' Mo cut in calmly. 'Hermione, Muggle's and wizards alike are both extraordinarily stupid when it comes to one major thing: if we don't accept its existence, it's not there. Relax; nothing is going to go wrong.'

But even as she said those words, something uneasy stirred in her belly, and she suddenly saw her dream of the crow, the snake, the eagle and the horse playing through her mind again.

Shaking her head to rid herself of both the dream and the ominous feeling, she ran after Harry and the others, and by the time she reached them, the memory was completely gone from her mind.

.

.

.

By the time Harry, Ron, Hermione and Mo reached the water pump, all four of them were sweating and dusty. They got into line behind an old man in a dressing gown and a stressed Ministry wizard and waited patiently for their turn, absently listening to the conversation ahead of them.

'C'mon Archie, put some pants on! The Muggle's are getting suspicious, and we can only Obliviate them so many times!' the Ministry wizard pleaded, holding a pair of trousers in his hands.

Old Archie shook his head stubbornly. 'No! I was told to dress like a Muggle to blend in, and Muggle's wear this!'

'Muggle _women_ wear that,' cried the wizard. 'Muggle men wear _these._'

He shook the pants in Archie's face, but the old man wouldn't budge. 'No. I like a healthy breeze around my privates, thanks.'

Hermione and Mo were suddenly so over-come with giggles that they had to duck out of line, and didn't return until Archie had collected his water and moved off. The boys collected the water and carried it awkwardly between them, trying not to spill to much water as they moved to go back to the tent a different way, trying to see as much of the campgrounds as possible.

It was like the Irish section all over again; one moment, they were walking in normal coloured tents with a strange hodgepodge of additions to them and suddenly, they were in fields of red.

'Bulgaria.' Mo whistled. 'Red is so their colour.'

'Who's that?' Hermione asked, pointing to a poster on the wall of one tent. Amongst the red and black of the Bulgarian national flag were posters of a boy.

He was handsome, Mo admitted. He had dark eyes and hair, strong jaw-line, slightly crooked nose and a very dark scowl. Mo frowned and poked one of the posters, making the guy glare at her. 'Smile, it won't kill you,' she ordered the picture, but only received a darker scowl in return.

'Who's the grump-ass?' Mo asked, standing beside Hermione.

Ron was horrified. 'That's Viktor Krum!' he cried. 'He's only the best seeker in the world! He's really young too, only eighteen or something.'

Mo squinted at Krum again, who arched an eyebrow at her. 'He's hot,' she declared; Hermione hummed in agreement, and the Krum photo preened and flashed a cocky smile, making the girls laugh.

The boys, however, were not amused.

'What!'

'You think he's hot!' Harry cried. 'Why! You just called him a grump-ass!'

'Yeah, but he's still hot,' Mo shrugged, linking her arm with Hermione's. 'I'm sure he'd be much more polite in person.'

Harry looked between the poster and Mo. 'He is _not_ hot. Or your type,' he said.

'Says who?' Mo asked.

'Says me!'

'Well, I think he's hot. And he is totally my type.'

'He is not!' Harry yelled. Mo rolled her eyes and began to walk away with Hermione, leaving Ron and Harry to chase after them awkwardly with the bucket bouncing between them. 'Mo! You don't actually think he's hot, right?! Mo! Take that back! He's not your type!'

'Get over it!'

.

.

.

**notes: **hokay, so after a long hiatus, I am back with more HarryMo goodness. seriously, this is becoming my otp. like, legit.

ohdeargodwhatiswrongwithme?

read and review! the next chapter is barty crouch, bagman and the beginning of the quidditch world cup! also, i fixed the temporal continuity, thanks to a review that reminded me that this is set in 1994…oops. so! instead of hunger games it's the lion king! kickass movie.

-natrissabelladonis

**Edited: 09/09/12**


	6. ireland vs bulgaria

**disclaimer**: mine, actually. well, moira, her family and all future oc's belong to me. harry potter belongs to the wonderful j.k.r  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to my friend, who has fallen in love with mo and harry's dynamic. I HAVE ANOTHER LOVER OF HARMO!...Moirry? MoArry? whatever, I have another shipper on the MoHarry OTP bandwagon!...although it won't happen for a while…hehe oops…  
><strong>not<strong>**es**: and this is chapter five of **by trial of fire**. here we SHOULD meet ludo bagman, crouch, and the Quidditch world cup happens or begins – depends on how many pages I run into by the time crouch and bagman are gone…if I even introduce crouch…or get to the world cup…

**title**: by trial of fire  
><strong>summary<strong>: fire cleanses, but it also burns. moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts will be one of her most memorable yet, not only for her, but for her friends too. it's a trial of fire, and she's on the stand. Harry/OC

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**chapter five  
>ireland vs bulgaria<strong>

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'Mr. Weasley! We're back!' Mo hollered as she and Hermione walked happily into camp.

The boys came huffing and puffing behind them, carrying the water between them and fighting not to spill any more water than they already had. They had chased the girls for about three minutes (miraculously not spilling any water) before slowing to a walk and frowning sullenly at all the Krum photos. Apparently, the one that had overheard Mo and Hermione had spread the word, and as the girls walked by they got half-smiles and sometimes waves, while the boys got smirks and glares.

Sometimes, Harry really hated magical portraits.

'Excellent!' Mr. Weasley cried, jumping up from his spot beside Bill. 'Hand it here boys, and we'll get the kettle going.'

The boys vanished inside the tent with Bill, Percy (who had arrived moments ago, it seemed) and the Twins while Mo and Hermione sat down around Ginny and Charlie, who was recounting a tale of how he got the shiny burn on his left shoulder. '…she was at least as big as the Burrow, if not larger, with long thick legs and a hide as tough as diamonds,' he was saying.

'I'd been charged with taking care of her eggs and making sure she had enough food and water. She'd been injured by some poachers earlier, which was why we were taking all these extra precautions, but that didn't stop her from hissing at me when I came near.'

'I crept in as close as I could, trying to seem non-threatening, but she didn't like me being so close to her eggs. As soon as I got within thirty feet of her, she blew fire at me! I dodged, but a bit of the fire hit my arm and burned right through my armour!'

'Whoa,' Mo breathed, completely entranced. 'What kind of dragon was she?'

'She was a Hebridean Black – a known man-eater. We only had her to watch her leg, but she didn't like us at all,' Charlie laughed. 'We were just another food source for her.'

'That's really dangerous,' Hermione worried. 'I mean, you could have been killed!'

'Yes, but that's all part of the job. Hermione, in the wizarding world, you could be killed doing anything – even in the jobs that seem the most safe. That can happen in the Muggle world too, right?'

She nodded and Charlie smiled. 'Well, then, if you're doing something you love, isn't it worth the risk?'

Mr. Weasley called Charlie and told him to go get the lunch materials, and with a wave the dragon-tamer left the three girls to their musings. Mo was the first to speak.

'I think I'm in love.'

'With Charlie?' Ginny gasped. 'What happened to poor Harry? Then again, it would be nice to have another girl around the house…I approve! Hurry up and get hitched with Charlie, I need a sister-in-law _desperately._'

'I'm not in love with Charlie!' Mo laughed, adding absently, 'And I'm not in love with Harry either. When I said I was in love, I meant with Charlie's job.'

'Dragon-taming?' Hermione squeaked. 'You want to be a dragon tamer!?'

'Yeah! I mean, think about it – you're helping preserve a dying breed; there's excitement, danger, life-threatening situations, triumph and happiness. It's basically like hanging around Harry, except all the danger comes from something that generally hates everyone and doesn't have a personal vendetta against my best friend.'

'But still, Mo…that's really, really dangerous!' Hermione said. 'You could get seriously hurt.'

'Well, it's either that or Auror training with Harry,' Mo shrugged. 'Pick your poison, 'Mione.'

Hermione pursed her lips at Mo, and gracefully steered the topics into safer grounds – arguments between Hermione and Mo never quite ended well. The reason being was because Mo and Hermione were a lot alike: both hard working, studious girls, generally even-tempered, and quiet. The only major differences between them were Mo's more pronounced Gryffindor stupidity, a fiery temper that sprung to life more often than Hermione's and a completely bull-headed, stubborn-as-an-ox nature that only Harry could have brought to life.

Hermione hated losing at arguments, or any kind of intellectual debate, but whenever Mo got into an argument or debate, she _always_ won, hands down. It wasn't because she was always right; it was because she outright refused to be _wrong_. It drove Hermione absolutely nuts, and was the main reason their arguments were never pretty.

As Mo, Ginny and Hermione descended into a deliberately-friendly debate over whose food was better, France or Italy, a rather portly looking man came up. He was dressed in black and yellow striped beater's robes, and had a very thin head of blonde hair that matched his bright blue eyes. He held the look of someone who had once been very athletic but had long left his prime. The man's face was red in the sun; he panted slightly and attempted to straighten himself as he spotted Mo, Ginny and Hermione sitting behind Mr. Weasley.

'Arthur! Is that you, old boy?'

'Ludo!' Mr. Weasley yelled back, standing up and shaking Ludo's hand. 'It's great to see you! Kids! This here is Ludo Bagman, head of the Department for Magical Games and Sports, and former beater for the Wimbourne Wasps. Ludo, this is my daughter, Ginny, and her two friends, Moira and Hermione. The boys are just inside – hold on, I'll go get them!'

He ducked inside the tent, leaving the girls with Bagman, who sat himself down across the fire with a groan. 'Not in the best of shape these days,' he huffed lightly, smiling. 'Now! I assume you fine young ladies attend Hogwarts, eh? What houses are you in, might I ask?'

'We're all in Gryffindor, sir,' said Hermione. 'Moira and I are fourth years, and Ginny is a third year.'

'Splendid, splendid,' said Bagman affably. 'Are you three excited for the game?'

'Yes, sir,' said Mo politely. 'This is my first pro-Quidditch game ever! I can't wait to see how the Chasers work!'

'Oho, a budding Chaser are we?' Bagman winked and Mo laughed.

'Ginny and I are both budding Chasers,' Mo said. 'We hope to play for our school team at some point before we graduate. We've practiced a lot lately, so I hope when we try out we'll be good enough to make it.'

'I'm sure you will, my girl. Arthur! Got any grub? I'm absolutely exhausted; all these foreign wizards, trying to keep the peace between them is like fishing for smoke! Completely impossible!' Bagman called out as Arthur came to of the tent. 'Why, this one chap –'

'Who's that?' Harry asked as he sat down beside Mo.

'Ludo Bagman,' Ginny replied. 'He used to play for the Wimbourne Wasps. He was a beater; he's the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports now, and he's commentating at the match tonight.'

Harry eyed the jovial man chatting to Mr. Weasley and an attentive Percy across the fire and arched an eyebrow. 'He looks like a bumblebee.'

Mo choked on her drink and dissolved into a coughing fit as everyone around her dissolved into stifled giggles. Harry fought a smile and pounded Mo on the back until she regained her breathing. Red-faced and gasping for air, she buried her face in her hands. 'Oh god that was so embarrassing,' she whispered.

Harry laughed. 'Relax, it was an accident.'

She popped her head up and glared at him. 'It was your fault, you bloody prat! If you hadn't made me laugh –'

'Oh shush,' Harry covered her mouth with his hand, and recoiled in disgust a moment later.

'You licked me!' he cried; Mo smirked and stuck her tongue out at him. Harry opened his mouth to retort when Fred and George stood up.

'Well, as nice as this lover's spat is –' said George.

'We are _not_ lovers.'

'- Gred and I have some business to attend to with Mr. Bagman,' finished Fred.

The twins stood up and headed over to Bagman, who was trying to goad Mr. Weasley into betting on the match. Fred and George thrust their money in Bagman's face and grinned. 'We'll bet thirty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, three knuts,' said Fred, 'That Ireland wins but Krum gets the snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand as well.'

'Boys – all your savings – your mother won't approve –' Mr. Weasley muttered beneath Percy's hisses about how Bagman wouldn't appreciate such "childish tricks and illusions".

Contrary to Percy's belief, Bagman thought the wand was a brilliant idea, and left their little group with his jingling pockets a bit heavier and a laugh in his voice. Fred and George looked immensely pleased with themselves, Mr. Weasley looked mildly concerned and Percy looked ready to start spitting fire.

'Bagman looks like the cat that caught the canary,' Ginny mused.

Harry narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. 'He looks more like a sumo wrestler in tights if you ask me.'

Mo broke out into laughter again, and didn't recover for a very long time.

**.**

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**.**

The afternoon wore on slowly, but surprisingly with very little boredom among the teens. Their tent had been pitched by some kind of throughway, and they spent the afternoon watching various witches and wizards walk by. The girls were all fascinated at the sight of the varying wizarding cultures, while the boys just kept a look out for attractive women. When Cho Chang had walked by, Harry had turned bright red and stuttered out a hello when she smiled at him.

Mo snickered at his blushing face, crooned something about how her baby Harry was growing up, and tossed a sausage at his head.

After all, she and Harry were nothing but best friends. That gave her intrinsic rights to take the mick out of him when he fell in love with a pretty girl. Despite knowing she didn't love Harry, a part of her wilted at the adoring look Harry gave Cho Chang. She wished a boy would give her that kind of adoring look.

Hermione had smacked Ron's arm hard when he had commented on one French girl's arse. Harry had made a passing comment about Cho Chang and had to endure Mo's teasing for the next half-hour. Moira had never seen Harry blush so hard; he looked like a Weasley.

In retribution, however, the girls commented – loudly – on how attractive the guys walking by their tents were. The guys noticed and flashed the girls' smiles, which caused a lot of giggling and blushing. Well, Hermione and Ginny giggled and blushed; Mo _winked _at the boys and struck up conversations with random ones about the most inane of things.

Harry spent most of that time period beside Ron, talking about Quidditch and girls – mostly Cho.

At some point or another, a vendor walked by and Mo used some of her money to buy Fred and George an Irish scarf and dancing shamrock hat since they had spent all their money betting with Bagman. They had thanked her profusely and promised not to prank her the first week of school.

As dusk started to settle over the crowds, the excitement rose until it seemed as though the very air vibrated from the force of it. Ministry wizards had long since given up controlling the bursts of magic that were breaking out everywhere, and as the first stars appeared on the reddish-orange horizon, a loud cannon-shot echoed over the campgrounds and red-and-green lanterns flared to life, illuminating the path to the glittering gold stadium.

'It's time, kids! Let's go!' Arthur seemed more excited than the rest of them as they all donned their souvenirs and joined the queue of witches and wizards all streaming through the forest towards the pitch.

They joked and talked loudly as they made their way into the tall stadium. The entire thing was made of what appeared to be gold, and illuminated by thousands of lights. Mr. Weasley saw their astonished expressions and chuckled. 'Seats 100, 000,' he said. 'Warded by over a hundred of our finest at the Ministry; muggle-repelling charms over every inch of the place. The Ministry has been working round the clock to make sure no Muggle's stumble upon the sight. If any Muggle does wander too close, they suddenly remember an important appointment and rush off, bless them.'

Their group moved up slowly through the stadium, battling the general crowd and salesmen that Apparated every few feet, loudly shouting out their wares. One salesman in particular caught Mo's eye. He was tall, but in a gangly sort of way with messy dark hair and blue eyes.

As they climbed higher, they got closer and closer to the boy. Making up her mind, Mo dug a galleon out of her pocket and dodged through the crowd to get to the corridor set back into the stadium that housed the washrooms and food stalls. The dark-haired bloke was just finishing up with a little girl.

'Excuse me?' Mo asked, coming up. 'But, can you paint my face for me?'

He turned and smiled at her. 'Sure thing,' he said easily. 'What would you like?'

'Um, a shamrock please, on my left cheek, and an Irish national flag on my right. Thanks,' she said as she handed over the galleon.

Dipping his brush into his paint, the young man began to draw on her face. Mo suppressed a shiver at the cool texture of the paint. 'So, I'm assuming you're Irish if you're rooting for the green,' he said conversationally.

He had a pleasant accent to his words, and with his boyish grin and friendly eyes, Mo found herself relaxing around him rather quickly. The man finished the shamrock and turned down to his paints; Mo glanced over her shoulder quickly and found the group was still a little ways off, but quickly approaching.

He seemed to notice her hurry, for he picked up his pace and finished her cheek quickly before starting on the other one. 'So,' he said conversationally. 'You go to Hogwarts?'

Mo smiled, remembering not to nod. 'Yeah, I'm going into fourth year. Gryffindor all the way.'

'My younger brother is in Gryffindor, a year above you. Maybe you know him – his name's Ethan Pendragon.'

'Yeah, I know him!' she exclaimed. 'We're in the same study group; I'm good friends with his crush, Paige. Maybe he's mentioned me; I'm Moira O'Shea.'

'I think he has mentioned you,' said the man contemplatively. 'You're the girl that's always hanging around Harry Potter, aren't you?'

'Guilty as charged,' Mo laughed.

'Well, I think your dashing knight is missing you,' He winked and pointed behind her, where Harry and the Weasley's were pushing through the crowd towards her.

'Oh, I'd better get going,' Mo said. 'Thank you very much for painting my face. Say hi to Ethan for me.'

'Of course I will, and thank you. You're some of the best conversation I've had all night!' He and Mo simultaneously glanced over his shoulder at the group of giggling pre-teen girls behind them and burst out laughing.

'Mo? What are you doing?' Harry asked.

Mo turned around from her position beside Ethan's brother, smiled and quickly said good-bye to the dark-haired man before continuing on up the stairs, glancing expectantly over her shoulder at the group.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny ran after her, questions' bubbling up inside them like the bubbles in the fizzy drinks Muggle's loved. 'Who was he!?' Ginny demanded excitedly as they caught up to her.

'I don't know his name, but he's the older brother of one of my friends, Ethan,' said Mo.

'He's cute; is he single?' said Ginny.

Mo laughed - Ron spluttered indignantly about how Ginny was _not_ allowed to date yet – and shrugged. 'I don't know. I didn't exactly ask. But if you like him, go for it! He's really nice.'

Ginny beamed and Mo glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye, before smiling innocently. 'So, Harry. Cho Chang eh? It's about time you got a girl. I was starting to worry you were gay.'

Harry's face went white, then red, then rapidly neared maroon. 'I am not gay!' he whisper-yelled, mindful of the people queuing around them on the stairs. 'And quit teasing me! You already teased me for half an hour! Aren't you bored!?'

'I know you're not, that's what I just said,' Mo said, flipping her hand as if warding off a particularly troublesome fly. 'Relax. And no, I am not bored. Making you blush harder than Ron is going to be an endless source of amusement this year. I can't wait.'

Harry frowned and poked Mo in the side. 'You're an idiot,' he said flatly.

'I get it from you,' she sniped, smirking at him as she filed into the top box after Ginny. 'Now sit down and shut up.'

'How rude.' Harry grumbled under his breath as he sat down beside her, tugging her program out of her hand and fending her off with his free arm. Mo struggled to retrieve her program for several minutes before giving it up as a lost cause and smacking Harry around the back of the head for his impertinence.

'Prat,' Mo huffed, sitting back down in her seat and holding her Omnioculars to her eyes. 'Ooh, Gin, look, hot guy at twelve 'o'clock!'

'Where?' Ginny asked, borrowing Mo's Omnioculars.

'Straight ahead. The blonde with the great teeth and the Omnioculars, who's winking at us,' Mo said. 'He looks like he's my age. You should totally go for him!'

'Bones!' Ron leaned around Hermione and Harry and pointed a threatening finger at her. 'Stop encouraging her! She's just a kid!'

'I had my first boyfriend when I was her age, you numpty. So shut up and let us boy-shop.' Mo stuck her tongue out at the red head and proceeded to ignore his indignant squawks over **both** their ages. Hermione, finally getting sick of him blowing up her eardrum, stuck his Omnioculars to his face and told him to amuse himself so she could read the program.

Over the next half-hour, the top box steadily filled up with a strange assortment of people, all of whom were evidently very important witches and wizards. Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with nearly everyone who walked in, and Percy jumped to his feet so often he looked like he'd sat on a pincushion. At one point Mo spotted Abasi and Akida, and she waved frantically at them, making Akida laugh. Unfortunately, they sat at the other end of the box, which greatly disappointed Moira.

Harry was mostly interested by the big screen directly across from them that was flashing advertisements every few seconds. Mo watched him out of the corner of her eye. Leaning across the seat, she tapped him on the shoulder and smirked. 'Hey Harry, I think I see Cho.'

'What?' Harry glanced around wildly and turned three shades of red before realizing that Mo was just pulling his leg. He scowled at her. 'Not funny Mo.'

'Hey, you teased me about Will all the time. This is payback, hun,' She grinned, wriggling her fingers at him.

Harry huffed and shoved her head away from his. 'Sod off, Mo.'

'Aw, you love me,' she teased. Harry's lips twitched and he poked her.

'You're lucky I do.'

Mo opened her mouth to snap at him when a familiar, oily voice broke through their conversation. 'Well, well, well; if it isn't Scarhead, Mudblood and Weasel.' Draco Malfoy stood at the entrance to the top box, silver eyes flashing. He cast his gaze over the scowling Weasley members and landed on Mo, who stared challengingly back at him. 'O'Shea,' he sneered.

'Draco,' she responded sweetly. 'It's nice to see you again. Are you going to introduce us to your family, or leave them to do it themselves? Propriety Draco, dear.' She tutted with false admonishment as two tall, equally blonde adults appeared behind them.

Malfoy's lip curled but he smiled with false pleasantry. 'Of course, _Moira,_ how could I be so ignorant? Mother, Father, this is Moira O'Shea and her – friends. O' - Moira, this is my mother Narcissa Malfoy, and I believe you've met my father, Lucius?'

Lucius Malfoy was as imposing as ever, dressed in resplendent black robes and clutching an ebony cane tipped with a silver snake's head. Mo knew from Harry's stories of second year that it contained his wand, and so eyed it with an appropriate amount of wariness. Mo stood up and edged her way along the rows to shake his hand. Malfoy bent his head to her and brought her hand up to kiss it. He looked faintly ill at being forced to mingle with a Mudblood, but otherwise said nothing. Inwardly, Mo cackled evilly.

'It's so nice to meet one of Draco's friends. You seem quite a bit more civilized than those two boys he associates with,' Narcissa purred, kissing Moira on each cheek as she did the same.

Narcissa Malfoy was a tall, regal woman with icy blue eyes and silvery blond hair. Dressed in fine robes of dark blue, she cut a lovely, if cold figure. Her eyes briefly flashed with disgust at the sight of the Weasleys but she remained cordial to Moira.

And then, Malfoy opened his fat mouth.

'So, Weaselbee,' he smirked. 'How much did your family have to sell to pay for these tickets, hmm? You're pigsty of a house can't be worth that much.'

The Weasleys all leapt to their feet, ears flaming, but Moira merely smirked at Malfoy. 'So, Draco,' she simpered. 'Whose ass did Daddy have to kiss this time?'

Malfoy went an ugly shade of puce and went for his wand. Moira just stood with her arms folded, smirking. 'Tut, tut, Draco, bad form dueling in front of your parents. You should learn to control your temper more. Oh, hello Minister. How are you?'

The Malfoys, who aside from Narcissa had all been going for their wands, whirled around to see Cornelius Fudge walked into the top box, gesturing animatedly to a Bulgarian wizard in splendid black robes edged with gold. Fudge spotted Harry and pushed his way over; pausing to greet the Malfoy's and thank them for their donation to St. Mungo's Hospital. With a sneer to the Weasleys, the Malfoys turned and made their way to the other end of the box and their seats.

'How can you be so polite to them?' Ron hissed as she sat back down before the Minister arrived.

'Because in public they have to be polite or else risk ruining their image. I mean, did you see their faces when they were forced to associate politely with a Mudblood? They looked like they'd rather stick pins in their eyes! It's the perfect way to get back at them,' Mo explained. 'I figured that out in second year.' While Ron stared at her in amazement, Fudge bumbled over to Harry.

'Harry, splendid to see you! This is Mr. Oblansk – Obalansk – well, this is the Bulgarian Minister,' Fudge said animatedly, shaking Harry's hand. Turning to the wizard beside him, he said loudly, 'This is Harry Potter. You now, the Boy-Who-Lived…oh come now; you must know who Harry Potter is! He defeated You-Know-Who! You _do_ know who that is, don't you?'

The Bulgarian Minister seemed to have spotted Harry's scar, and was now jabbering away animatedly in Bulgarian. Mo snickered as she picked up pieces of what the foreign Minister was saying. Fudge sighed. 'I knew we'd get there eventually. I'm no great shakes at languages; I need good old Barty for that. And look, his house elf's even saving him a seat, fantastic…'

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Mo turned around to see a small, wrinkled elf with large bat-like ears cowering in its seat behind Charlie. Its bulbous brown eyes were hidden by its long fingers, and it wore a clean tea towel draped like a toga. Harry stared. 'Dobby?'

'Did sir just call me Dobby?' said the elf. Its voice was even higher pitched than Dobby's, so Harry assumed it was female.

'Sorry,' he said awkwardly. 'You reminded me of someone I know.'

'I knows Dobby, sir!' she squeaked. 'My name is Winky, sir. You's is Harry Potter! Dobby speaks of the Great Wizard Harry Potter all the time.'

'Really?' said Harry. 'How is Dobby by the way? How's freedom suiting him?'

'Oh, sir, not to be rude, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favour, setting him free.' Winky had lowered her eyes, looking awestruck at being in Harry Potter's presence, but now she just looked solemn, like he had committed a great act of kindness to a murdering lunatic.

'Why not?' inquired Mo.

'The freedom is going to his head, miss,' said Winky. 'He can't get another position, miss. Has ideas above his station, miss.'

'Like what?' she asked, perplexed.

'He is wanting paying for his work, miss!' Winky whispered. She seemed appalled at the very idea of payment, or even asking for it.

'Well, that's good isn't it?' said Hermione. 'Payments and days off and things; I mean, why shouldn't he be paid?'

Winky looked properly horrified. 'House elves is not to be paid, miss!' she fairly shrieked. 'I says to Dobby, you need to find a good family and settle down! I says, if you goes about like the way you are, you's is going to find yourself up in front of the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures like some common goblin! House elves shouldn't be having fun, miss. House elves is supposed to be doing what they're told.'

Peering out from behind her hands, she swallowed hard. 'I is scared of heights, miss. But my master is telling me to save him a spot,' here she glanced at the empty seat next to her. 'And Winky a good house elf, so I come up here and save Master a spot, miss, even though Winky is much wishing she's back in Master's tent.'

Giving the edge of the box one last frightened look, she hid her eyes again and refused to speak. They all turned around again, stunned. 'So that's a house elf, eh?' Ron said. 'Weird little blighters, aren't they?'

'Dobby was weirder,' said Harry fervently.

At that moment, Bagman charged into the box. He had changed into splendid blue robes, and his blue eyes were sparkling with excitement. 'Ready ladies, gents? Let's get this show on the road!'

He whipped out his wand and pointed it to his throat. A whispered **Sonorous** charm later, and his voice was booming around the stands, filling every inch of the massive stadium as the cheers of the crowd began to swell under his masterful coaching. 'Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!' he boomed. 'And welcome! Welcome to the final of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup!'

The crowd roared in approval, noisemakers and national-anthem-touting flags being waved and banged in earnest. Mo watched with interest as the board across from them was wiped clean of its previous advertisement (endorsing Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans) and now read BULGARIA: ZERO and IRELAND: ZERO.

Bagman was speaking again. His voice rattled in Mo's bones, almost making her teeth chatter. 'Yes, how fantastic is it to be here tonight! But before we can get to the action, allow me to introduce the team mascots! First up are the Bulgarian Team Mascots!'

'I wonder what they brought,' said Ginny curiously, leaning forward on the edge of the box to peer at the pitch. 'oh! There they are! But, what are they?'

'Veela!' Mr. Weasley exclaimed.

'Those are Veela?' Mo asked, eyeing the hundred beautiful women now gliding onto the pitch. They looked human enough, but the moon-like shining of their skin, and the way their hair fanned behind them in a non-existent breeze, perfect and gold-white, told Mo they were definitely _not._

'Hey Harry,' she said, as the Veela began to dance. 'Do you think they're human?'

Harry didn't answer, and she glanced over to find Mr. Weasley, Bill, Percy and Charlie with their fingers shoved in their ears and Ron and Harry standing up, eyes glazed and fixed on the beautifully dancing women below. Harry had one foot on the edge of the box, looking like he was going to jump into the pitch to be with the women.

Moira rolled her eyes, and yanked Harry back down into his seat, mumbling under her breath about men and only thinking with the wrong head. Hermione had done the same thing with Ron, who looked like he wanted to dive over the edge. The music stopped and Mo looked around the stadium, full out laughing at the expressions on many of the men's - and some of the women's - faces when they realized the Veela would be leaving the pitch.

'You're all bonkers,' she said conversationally to Harry, who was blinking as if surfacing from being in the dark for a long time.

'What happened?' he asked, rubbing his head. Ron was absent-mindedly ripping his green shamrock, and Hermione smacked it out of his hands reproachfully.

'Honestly!' she huffed, and when Ron tried to steal it back and continue shredding it, she smacked his hands again and turned away.

'Mo?' Harry asked. He looked so adorably confused that Mo couldn't help but snort in laughter.

'Your libido took a plane to higher skies,' she waggled her eyebrows at him. 'I guess your heart isn't as pure for Cho Chang as you thought.'

Harry went white. 'What did I do? Mo, what happened?'

'Nothing!' she assured him. 'You just tried to jump out of the box to impress the Veela,' she gestured to the women sitting placidly along one-side of the pitch. 'And ended up making a fool of yourself, along with most of the men in the arena.'

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands while Mo patted him on the back and laughed. Bagman took his fingers out of his ears. 'And without further ado, let us welcome the Irish Team Mascots!'

Mo leapt to her feet and cheered wildly as a cloud of green and gold zoomed onto the pitch. 'Holy Jiminy Crickets!' she yelled. 'They brought leprechauns! Yes!'

'Leprechauns?' Harry asked. 'Mo, what are you talking about, it's just a cloud of green and gold stuff.'

Mo was too busy cheering to answer. Up above, the little men, dressed in green waistcoats with gold chains and little black shoes, carrying swinging gold lanterns, had formed a giant shamrock that winked and glittered in the light from the stadium. As it zoomed overhead, gold coins fell and bounced off the seats and people's heads.

'Leprechaun gold!' Mo laughed. 'Brilliant!'

People were jumping up and down, trying to grab as much leprechaun gold as possible. Mo say Ron stuffing copious amounts into Harry's hands, shouting about Harry having to buy him a Christmas present now, and started laughing. She decided not to tell them that the gold would dissolve within 24 hours.

The shamrock finished its circle of the pitch and dissolved into thousands of little men who settled on the opposite side of the pitch from the Veela to watch the match. Bagman looked like he was having the time of his life as he began to introduce the teams.

'And now, ladies and gentlemen, wizards and witches of all ages, please welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov!'

A red-clad figure zoomed out of the entrance far below, moving so fast he was a blur. The Bulgarian supporters roared with approval, and Mo saw Harry raise his Omnioculars, trying to look at the broom. Idiot, he's going to miss everything! Thought Mo.

'Ivanova!'

A second scarlet-robed player flew out, and Mo clapped politely.

'Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Vulkov! Aaaaaand – Krum!'

Hermione, Ginny and Mo all leapt to their feet, cheering wildly despite being staunch supporters for Ireland. The boys frowned but Ron quickly overcame his consternation as he fixed his Omnioculars on the tiny Krum. 'That's him, Harry, that's him!' he cried.

As Mo sat down again, someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to see an older boy sitting behind her with what she presumed to be his family, who weren't paying attention to what he was doing. He gave her a friendly smile and leaned in close to be heard. 'Aren't you supposed to be cheering for Ireland?' he asked playfully.

He had a thick accent, short dark hair and dark brown eyes that twinkled with mischief. Mo smiled. 'Yes, maybe, but Krum is a fantastic player. I don't care if he's playing against my country, I'll still cheer for him.'

'I see,' said the teen. 'But, your country? I thought you vere Scottish? You sound Scottish.'

'I am Scottish!' she yelled over the roar of the crowd. 'But my last name's Irish, and I love Ireland, so therefore, my country!'

He laughed. 'You are a strange girl. I am Sven, of Bulgaria. Pleased to meet you.'

Mo reached up and shook his hand. 'Moira, of Scotland. Pleasure's all mine.'

They shared a laugh, and then Mo turned around just in time to see the first Irish player fly out, accompanied by Bagman's booming voice shouting, 'Connolly!'

Screaming loudly, Mo jumped to her feet to applaud the rest of the Irish National Quidditch Team. Bagman kept commentating, sounding like a kid in a candy store. 'Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaand – Lynch!'

Mo screamed herself hoarse as her favourite player, Aiden Lynch, flew out onto the field in a blur of green. The Irish supporters fairly exploded into cheers, stamping their feet and waving their flags wildly.

'And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!'

A small, skinny wizard walked onto the pitch. He was completely bald except for an enormous mustache that covered much of his lower face. He wore robes of pure gold, and carried a large crate under one arm, holding his broomstick under the other. A small silver whistle poked out from under his mustache, and Mo choked back laughter.

Holding her Omnioculars to her eyes, she watched as Mostafa mounted his broom and kicked open the crate. Four balls zoomed out – a red Quaffle, two black beaters, and a Golden Snitch, which Mo didn't see at all.

'And they're off!' Bagman screamed. 'Ladies and gentlemen, the four-hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup has begun!'

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**notes:** so…it's been a while. how is everyone? hehe sorry about the long delay. I had exams and school, and swimming got really hard and I've also discovered the wonder of a social life – even if it is just with my team mates - and as such I haven't been able to write much. I also had two trips for swim competitions in a row – montreal and buffalo – and have been outside or out on the town for most of the summer. I'm going into my grade 12 year – might as well make the most of the summer.

so, I did change a few things, and if you notice any oddities, spelling mistakes, etc., then please let me know and I will correct them. I've reworked all of the chapters, so continuity might be a bit off. bear with me though! next chapter's the actual world cup and then we're off to hogwarts!

**-natrissabelladonis**


	7. of flying, pictures and running

**disclaimer**: mine, actually. well, moira, her family and all future oc's belong to me. harry potter belongs to the wonderful j.k.r  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to reviewer numba…eight, i think? thank you for taking the time to review my story.  
><strong>not<strong>**es**: so now, finally, the world cup begins. we've met a bunch of new characters (but only one or two shall be reoccurring) and…well yea that's about it. and sven shall be very important in the future…but not in the way you might think…also i apologize for any fashion errors, but i'd rather write about what i know (which is current fashion) than completely butcher nineties fashion (you'll see what i mean soon). and yes, there will be references to modern shows (but the characters aren't going to really say them…and i shall be subtle…yes.

**title**: by trial of fire  
><strong>summary<strong>: fire cleanses, but it also burns. moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts will be one of her most memorable yet, not only for her, but for her friends too. it's a trial of fire, and she's on the stand. Harry/OC

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**chapter six  
>of flying, pictures, and running with daft teenagers<strong>

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'And it's Levski with the Quaffle! Mullen! Troy! Moran! Ivanova!'

It was the fastest game Moira had ever seen – period. The players were basically blurs of color in the pitch; it was amazing that Bagman could see what was going on at all, let alone know their names. For the first three minutes of the game, she just sat there, open mouthed and completely amazed, until suddenly there was a roar from the crowd and Bagman screamed, 'TROY SCORES!'

'What!' she heard Harry yell crossly. 'What, that's not possible! Levski has the Quaffle!'

'Harry, you're going to miss things if you don't watch it at real speeds!' Hermione cried as she did an odd hopping dance as Troy did a lap of honor around the pitch.

Moira sniggered at Harry and turned to mention it to Ginny, only to find the girl twisted around in her seat, talking animatedly to Sven. Turning back around, Moira felt in equal parts highly amused and annoyed. What was it with everyone suddenly flirting with each other (or other people). She would not have flirting companions – it just wouldn't do!

'I don't want to have flirting friends,' she mumbled crossly.

'What are you blathering about?' Harry asked, eyes glued to his Omnioculars.

Mo stuck her tongue out at him and raised her own Omnioculars to her eyes. Everything suddenly came into sharp focus, and she felt her jaw drop again. The vision on these things was so clear! It was way better than any binoculars. The Irish Chasers were superb. They worked like they were all part of one mind, seamlessly mirroring each other's movements and never once dropping the Quaffle.

'I wonder if they have some sort of psychic link or whatever,' she thought aloud, but her words were lost in the roar of the crowd as Ireland scored again.

Cheering loudly along with the Irish supporters, Mo watched as the leprechauns leapt into the air and danced a jig while the Veela sulked moodily, their beautiful faces screwed up into ugly pouts. Mo snorted at them and turned her attention back to the game.

By the time the game was ten minutes in; Ireland had already scored again and was now leading 30-0. The match got faster and faster, and as the speed increased, so did the brutality. The Bulgarian beaters were whacking the bludgers any which way, and twice a Bulgarian chaser had shot right in between the Irish Chasers, forcing them to scatter or collide at high speed. Mo likened that kind of impact to the kind you'd get when you drove a car into a concrete barrier.

Eventually, these tactics paid off and Bulgaria scored their first goal. 'FINGERS IN YOUR EARS!' Charlie bellowed, and Mo giggled as all the boys stuffed their fingers in their ears and screwed up their faces as the Veela rose to their feet and began to dance. The dance ended quickly, but the boys didn't remove their fingers from their ears or look at the pitch until Hermione nudged Ron and Fred, who in turn told the rest of the guys.

Mo was already avidly following the game again. Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle. And Bagman was shouting names a mile a minute. But something else had caught Mo's eyes. She twiddled the setting on her Omnioculars and zoomed in, only to leap to her feet and gasp, shortly followed by the rest of the stadium.

'Oh my flipping god! What the bloody hell are they doing!' she cried.

Lynch and Krum had both gone into a steep dive. They were moving so fast, they looked like they'd decided to go sky-diving without parachutes. Moira looked ahead of them, looking for the snitch and found – nothing.

She lowered her Omnioculars, jumping up and down and screaming, 'They're going to crash! They're going to crash!'

Lynch is!' Harry roared, and sure enough, mere feet from the turf, Krum pulled away. Lynch was too far gone to pull away, and slammed into the pitch with a sickening crunch.

Mo swore rather violently, and Harry stared at her in shock. 'That lowlife!' she howled. 'How dare he?! That's the lowest flipping move in the book, you arsehole!'

'Where did you learn to swear like that!?'

'Zack.'

'Ah. Well that explains everything.'

Medi-wizards were now rushing on to the pitch to where the crumpled form of Lynch lay. Mo was practically hanging over the edge of the box, Omnioculars glued to her face as she tried to catch a glimpse of her favourite seeker. Harry grabbed the back of her sweater in an attempt to keep her in the box, rolling his eyes as she muttered furiously to herself.

'Stupid bloody tosspot. Using that move as a distraction to look for the Snitch - of all the low-down, no good moves – Lynch had better be okay, or it's his head on a platter.'

Harry tugged her back into her seat and winced as she screamed when Lynch got to his feet and kicked off from the ground, back into the game once more. 'I thought you said Krum was hot?' he said in amusement.

'Yeah, he is hot, but he just ploughed Lynch, so he isn't my favourite right now.' Mo lifted her Omnioculars back to her eyes and play resumed, and Harry followed suit.

The injury of their seeker and his subsequent revival had given the Irish team new heart. The next twenty minutes were full of fast and furious flying. The Irish chasers had stepped up their game; their skill was like nothing Mo had ever seen before. Within the twenty minutes, Ireland had scored ten more times to the roars of their supporters, but the game wasn't over yet. In fact, it was just getting dirtier.

As Mullet of Ireland shot toward the Bulgarian goalposts yet again, the Bulgarian keeper flew out to meet her. Mo couldn't see what happened next, but the Irish let out screams of rage and the whistle blew, signaling a foul.

'And Ireland gets a penalty! Thanks to Bulgarian Keeper for cobbing – excessive use of elbows!' Bagman roared.

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air at the whistle, formed the floating words 'HA HA HA' and flashed them toward the Veela, who got to their feet, tossed their hair angrily and started to dance.

The boys stuffed their fingers in their ears, but Hermione, Mo and Ginny, who had finally stopped talking to Sven, started laughing. Hassan Mostafa had landed in front of the dancing Veela and was now stroking his absurd mustache and flexing his twiggy arms at them.

Ludo Bagman's voice boomed through the stadium, sounding highly amused. 'Somebody slap the referee! We can't have that!'

A medi-wizard rushed onto the field and tore across to where Mostafa was still flexing. He kicked the Egyptian referee hard in the shins, making the man come back to himself with a start. Now the Weasleys and Harry were laughing too; Mostafa looked highly embarrassed and was now yelling furiously at the Veela, who glared murderously at him.

'I think he's trying to send off the mascots,' Ginny giggled, and it was true. Bagman had picked up on it too.

'Oh, I say, this could turn nasty,' he commented. 'No referee has ever tried to send off the Team mascots before.'

It did turn nasty. The Bulgarian beaters landed on either side of the referee, gesticulating wildly and angrily between the ref and the leprechauns, who had now formed the words 'HEE HEE HEE'. Mostafa wasn't having any of it. He was jabbing angrily at the air, and when they refused to mount their brooms, he gave two short blasts of his whistle - two more penalties for Ireland.

'GET BACK ON YOUR BROOMS YOU NUMPTIES!' Mo hollered.

Ginny grinned at her. 'Switched sides now, have you Mo?'

'No, of course not, I JUST WANT THE FLIPPING GAME TO START! HURRY UP!' she yelled, making Ginny giggle at her facial expression.

The beaters finally got back on their brooms, and the game reached a level of ferocity that almost shocked Mo. The beaters from both teams were hitting the bludgers any which way without mercy. Ireland was awarded another penalty thanks to a cheap hit from Dimitrov, and the Mascots were beginning to get angry.

The leprechauns started it. After the foul was awarded, they flew up into the sky and made lewd hand gestures toward the Veela. Mo watched with interest as the Veela lost control. Launching themselves across the pitch, they began to throw fireballs at the leprechauns. Their faces were contorted into masks of rage and elongating into cruel, sharp-beaked bird heads, and scaly wings were bursting from their backs.

'_That_, boys,' yelled Mr. Weasley over the roars of the crowd and the shrieks of the Veela, 'is why you never go for looks alone.'

Mo was laughing uproariously as Ministry wizards flooded onto the pitch to try and break up the fighting Mascots but to no avail. The Quaffle was passing hands so fast she didn't even bother to watch; she just cheered when Bagman said Ireland scored – which was often – and booed if Bulgaria scored – which was never.

Suddenly, the Irish beater hit the bludger as hard as possible towards Krum, who unfortunately didn't duck in time. With a resounding crack, it slammed into his face. Blood poured from his nose and the crowd groaned. Ron was beside himself. 'Time out! Come on, he needs a medi-wizard, call a time out! He can't play like that!'

'Stuff it, sweetheart, he's just fine!' Mo screamed, dancing around and grinning wildly.

She was right. Lynch had gone into a dive, and this time he had surely seen the Snitch. Krum, however, was right on his tail and gaining ground faster than Mo thought possible.

'They're going to crash!' screamed Hermione.

'No there not!' bellowed Ron.

'Lynch is!'

Hermione was correct; for the second time that night, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force. He was then stampeded by a horde of angry Veela, causing the Ministry wizards and medi-wizards to resort to using brute force to pull them off of him.

'Where's the Snitch?!' yelled Harry. Mo lifted her Omnioculars to her eyes.

'Krum's got it! Krum's got the Snitch! It's over! Ireland won, but Krum got the Snitch!' she shrieked, waving her hands in the air and doing a very strange dance that involved walking almost like a chicken and waving her hands straight up in the air. 'Woohoo! Ireland wins!'

The entire stadium was in an uproar. The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY, IRELAND: ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY. The Irish quickly realized what was going on and burst into screams and applause so thunderous she felt her ears ring.

Not that she cared. She was one of those madly screaming fans too.

'Why'd he end it like that, the idiot?' Ron bellowed even as he clapped and joined Mo in her weird chicken-dance. 'Ireland was one hundred sixty points ahead!'

'End it on his own terms, I expect!' yelled Charlie, who was jumping up and down beside Fred and George, who were turned around, ready to besiege Bagman for their winnings. They were put off when he put up a finger, indicating to wait and give him a bit.

'What kind of rubbish is that?' Ron demanded.

Mo flapped her hands at him. She had stopped her chicken dance and was now wiggling her hips and jumping around. 'Who cares? Ireland won! Would have been better if it was Scotland, but I can't be picky.'

'Oh, quiet, you,' Harry nudged her head with his hand lightly, but she was too busy celebrating to really care, lucky for him.

'Do you think the Seekers are okay? Krum looks awful and I think that last hit sent Lynch for a loop,' Ginny said, alternating between peering down at the mass of Medi-wizards, Ministry wizards and the Irish team that surrounded the dazed Irish Seeker and looking at Krum, who had just landed as was shooing the mediwizards off of him.

'Ah, he'll be fine,' said Ron. 'The Irish are nothing if not tenacious.'

Mo laughed, still dancing. 'Ooh, Ron, big word. You sure you know the meaning of it?'

'Shut up, Mo.'

'Oi, that's my line!'

'Well, now it's mine.' Ron stuck his tongue out at her while her back was turned, Mo still being caught up in her victory dance.

'Oi! I know you're sticking your tongue out at me! Don't make me come over there, Weasley!'

Ron scowled and turned back to the pitch, where the Irish team had lifted off into the air, Lynch hanging on the back of one of his team-mates, smiling dazedly at the crowd. A few seats down, Fudge was squawking like an irate goose as he discovered that the Bulgarian Minister could actually speak English all along, something that would later make Mo howl when Bill informed her of it.

'And as the Irish perform a lap of honor around the pitch, the World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!' Bagman roared, and Mo stopped dancing, utterly blinded by the bright lights that suddenly all turned in their direction.

The cup itself was dazzling. Made of pure silver and ornately crafted, it was a thing of beauty that Mo could barely see due to the lights. She just made out it being handed by two wizards to a disgruntled Fudge when Bagman began to speak again.

'Let's have a large hand for our gallant losers, who fought fiercely right to the very end and gave us a right good show – Bulgaria!'

The stadium cheered and clapped appreciatively as the seven Bulgarian players filed up the stairs and between the two rows of seats. Bagman called their names out as, one by one, they shook hands with first their Minister and then Fudge. When Krum got into the box, Mo felt her jaw drop for the umpteenth time.

He looked terrible. Two black eyes were blooming under the bloody mess from his nose, and for some reason he suddenly seemed a lot more powerful and intimidating on land than he did commanding a broomstick like it was a part of his body. When his name was called, the crowd positively erupted, drowning out Bagman's announcement of his name.

'And now, please welcome the victors of the four-hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup – Ireland!'

Mo screamed and cheered with the rest of the ecstatic crowd as the Irish team filed into the box. Lynch was being supported by Connolly and Moran; he looked dazed and a bit out of it from the second crash, but he was grinning broadly as thousands of Omnioculars lenses winked and flashed in their direction.

Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup overhead to the roaring approval from the crowd, and as a show of their sheer excitement and most likely amazing personalities, the Irish team shook hands with first the Bulgarian team, and then the rest of the Top Box.

Moira positively ran up to the entire team, clutching a camera she had buried in her bag and smiling nervously. 'Hello! That was an amazing match! I'm so happy I got to see it; you all were phenomenal! If it isn't too much trouble, can I have a picture with you all before you go?'

The Irish team grinned and shook hands with her, thanking her for supporting them, and agreed to a picture, calming Mo's reassurances that it was a Muggle camera and that the picture was going in her room and nowhere else. Mo shoved her camera at Charlie and positioned herself in the middle, between Connolly and Lynch, who slung their arms around her and smiled widely. She also got a picture with her, Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny and the Irish team as well.

The team then moved off to the rest of the box, and Mo dashed towards the Bulgarian team. There would be a short time later for pictures and autographs (supervised by Ministry wizards and Aurors) but Mo wanted pictures now, knowing she wouldn't have a chance at getting them later.

She smiled nervously and asked, in halting Bulgarian (she only knew a couple words compared to the one word of Swahili she knew) if she could have a picture. They agreed, and Mo walked back to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny the proud owner of a picture of both the Bulgarian and Irish National teams, and a picture with just her and Victor Krum, who stood with his arm resting heavily around her shoulders.

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.

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'That was amazing! Brilliant!' Mo gushed, practically vibrating with excitement. 'I wish I had filmed it so I could watch it again!'

They were back in the tent now, lounging on chairs or, in Fred, George and Mo's case, dancing and jumping around and acting like complete fools. The others had cups of hot chocolate and seemed quite relaxed, but still excited. Charlie was still chuckling lightly over Mo's sudden outpouring of pictures – she had insisted on a picture of her alone with every one of them, group shots of everyone, then just the boys, then the girls alone, and other random and inane pairings until everyone had pleaded dehydration and she had put her camera away.

Mo didn't understand how they could just sit there and talk about it! She had to move, had to tell the world how absolutely phenomenal that game was! Ron got up on a stepping stool, proudly holding on to the Krum figurine he had found. 'Krum was the best flyer there! There's no one like him! He's like a bird the way he rides the wind!'

'Ooh, Ronnie's in love!' Mo teased.

Fred and George grabbed Ron's hands, going down on one knee as if they were serenading him.

'Victor I love you –' sang Fred.

'Victor I dooo!' continued George.

'When we're apart, my heart beats only for you!' Mo, Fred and George all sang. Ron turned bright red and grabbed a pillow, whacking Mo over the head with it and starting an all-out pillow fight.

That soon ended when Mr. Weasley ran over, having come back in from checking the noise outside. 'Stop! Stop it!' he cried. 'We've got to get out of here! There's trouble!'

The Weasleys, Hermione, Mo and Harry all grabbed their things and scrambled out the tent flaps. What Mo had thought was screams of excitement were actually screams of terror. People were running every which way, and in the not-so-far-away distance, Mo spotted the gleam of fire and a group of masked men dressed in long black cloaks. The multi-coloured lights of spells lit up the night as they blasted people and tents alike out of their way.

'Head for the woods!' Mr. Weasley shouted, drawing his wand. 'Fred, George, Ginny is your responsibility! Stick together, and stay safe!'

He, Charlie, Bill and Percy charged off towards the masked men, and the group took off at a run towards the forest.

Mo grabbed Harry's hand and ran after him, terror pounding through her veins. A wonderful night had gone horribly, horribly wrong, and she didn't understand why. She had to get away, get away now because those men made her stomach twist in knots and her head swim with fear. They were bad, _bad _news, and if they caught her, she was dead.

Unfortunately, Mo underestimated the power of her own klutziness and the strength of the terrified crowd. Not seeing a fallen tent pole under her, she tripped and slammed into the ground. Her hand was torn from Harry's and within moments, her group was gone, separated by the crowd and leaving her utterly alone.

'HARRY!' Mo screamed, jumping to her feet and ignoring the stinging in her knees. 'HARRY! RON! HERMIONE! ANYONE! PLEASE!'

Only screams of terror answered her calls. Picking a random direction in what she hoped was the direction of the forest; she took off at a run. The group had run dangerously close to the burning tents now, and smoke choked the stars from the sky and shrouded everything in grey. Shoving past the throngs of people, she yelled for her friends and tried not to break down and freak out.

Panting, she stopped and whirled around, trying desperately to peer through the smoke. The smoke cleared as a strong wind blew through the area, and Mo screamed as the tent next to her blew up, covering her in shards of wood, burning cloth and what appeared to be clay shards from a pot.

Spinning around, she found herself nearly face to face with a masked man. The bone-white of his mask made the black of his cloak seem as if it was made of shadows. He leered at her and raised his wand, the tip glowing a deadly shade of green. Mo scrambled backwards, scraping her hands on the rough ground, and was just groping for her wand – which was in her sweater pocket - when a body slammed into the dark wizard and rugby tackled him to the floor, knocking his wand from his hand.

A tall, gangly youth stood up from his opponent and dusted off his trousers. Mo stood up cautiously and edged towards him. 'Did you just…rugby tackle that Dark Wizard?' she asked incredulously.

'Yes, I did! Remind me never to do that again – bloody blokes like a brick wall,' said the boy, turning around. He had the brightest hazel eyes Mo had ever seen. 'But no time for chit-chat now, we're still in the thick of the fighting. We've got to move now or –'

A tent exploded a few feet away and they both ducked instinctively. The boy reached out and grabbed Mo's hand, grinning like a fool. 'RUN!' he cried.

Mo and the boy began to run through the smoke and the crowds, which were thinning as everyone made a break for the forest. Ministry wizards ran by them, towards the explosions, and ahead of her the boy whooped in glee as they dodged through half-burnt tents and around debris.

'Oh! I don't believe I've introduced myself!' he shouted back to her. 'I'm Matt Vowles! Who're you!?'

'Moira O'Shea! Call me Mo!' she yelled back. The fear was starting to ebb away, and pure adrenaline was replacing it. 'So, do you do this often?!'

'Do what?' he asked as he jumped over a broken tent, pulling her with him.

'Run around in extremely dangerous situations grinning like a loon and acting like it's the best thing that's ever happened to you?!'

'Yeah! Woohoo!' Matt whooped, and Mo found herself laughing along with him as they moved farther and farther away from the explosions and into the section of tents that remained untouched by the dark wizards.

It was all quiet now, and they slowed to a stop in between some tents, releasing each other's hands so they could bend over and pant like they were dying from heat. The fighting was on the other side of the field now; the bangs and distant screams seemed like nothing but a dream. The stinging in her hands and knees, however, told Mo otherwise.

'Well,' said Matt, sitting down on the wet grass. 'That was fun.'

Mo flopped down beside him and spread herself out on the grass, her dark hair fanning behind her head (she had lost her hair tie sometime earlier). 'That's your idea of fun? Are you mad?'

'A little,' he said cheekily, and she let out an exhilarated laugh.

They sat in companionable silence for a little while, getting their breath back and such. When silence finally fell on the other side of the camp, Mo sat up and shook her hair free of leaves. 'I should be getting back. The others are probably worried half to death about me.'

She stood up and turned to go, only to realize that she had absolutely no idea where she was. That and her legs were cramping up. 'Oh. I don't know…which way did we come from?'

'You're asking me? I'm rubbish with directions. It's just dumb luck that I managed to get back to this area of tents,' Matt stood up and dusted off his pants. 'I don't know where your tent is; if you'd like, you can come back to my tent. I can fix up your cuts, and in the morning I'll see if I can get you back to your friends, or your house so you can notify your friends, as it were.'

Mo really wanted to protest – Harry would be going bonkers by this point – but she was so tired and her knees stung an awful lot.

In the end, she took Matt's hand and allowed him to lead her about five minutes away, to a non-descript tent that turned out to be much like the tent Mr. Weasley had – only it smelled better. Another boy and an older man were waiting inside.

'Matt! Where the hell have you been!' the boy cried. He had short spikey brown hair and green eyes, and was a lot taller than Mo; kind of like Matt. 'Oh. Hello. Who're you?'

'She's my companion! We escaped from the Death Eaters together! Well, I saved her life and she tagged along after me like a lost little puppy and just generally made an idiot of herself.' Matt buffed his nails on his shirt and looked immensely pleased with himself.

Mo scowled and slugged him on the arm, hard. 'I did not follow after you like a puppy! _You_ grabbed my hand and pulled me along on this weird adventure! And also, excuse me for acting _like I'm supposed to_ when facing a life or death situation, and not running around like I'm on a roller-caster in an amusement park!'

Matt stared at her in shock and rubbed his arm petulantly. 'You hit me!'

'Oh shut up, you big baby, I barely even hit you!'

'You _hit_ me!'

'Well, if you hadn't called me an idiot, I wouldn't have hit you! Dumbass.' The other boy looked at Matt and said, with a perfectly straight face,

'Oh, I like her. She knows how to put you in your place.'

Matt made a face at the boy and slouched away, sulking. The boy smiled at her and stuck out his hand. 'I'm Rory. Rory Smith and this is my dad, Andrew. It's nice to meet you, the girl who can out-sass Matt.'

'It's nice to meet you too, and you, Mr. Smith,' she said, shaking both men's hands. 'I'm sorry to be a bother, but Batman over there offered to let me spend the night here. I've gotten separated from my group, and I'm afraid I don't know how exactly to get back to them.'

'It's no trouble at all! I'm afraid I don't know where you'll sleep, though. We only have one bed, and matt's taken the couch, so -'

'She can take the couch.'

Rory, Mo and Mr. Smith all turned to look at Matt, who was sitting with his feet up on the kitchen table, fidgeting with a gadget in his hands. 'What did you say?' Rory asked, looking astonished.

'Mo can take the couch; I'll sleep on the floor,' He repeated, not looking up from his gadget.

Rory turned to Mo and grasped her shoulders tightly. 'I bloody love you! Not only did you out-smart Matt, you made him do a nice thing for others. That's it. Dad, we're keeping her.'

'Oh shut up, Rory,' Matt muttered, looking faintly pink.

Rory looked down and winced as he saw her mangled knees. 'Come here; we have a first aid kit in the bathroom. Let's get you cleaned up.'

.

.

.

Much later, after talking and goofing off and their combined efforts to forget the horrors of the night, Moira lay on the couch above Matt wearing a pair of Rory's sweatpants rolled up several times in order to fit. Her mind was as torn and scattered as her Capris, which hung over a kitchen chair in the makeshift dining room. So many questions were surging through her brain: would the others be looking for her? They must have gone mad with worry by now. Were they alright? What if something had happened to them, or -

'Don't worry,' a husky voice said from below, and Mo rolled over to look at Matt, who lay on his back with one arm tucked under his head, watching her. 'I'm sure your friends are fine.'

Mo rested her cheek on her arm and smiled lightly. 'Probably. They're a tenacious bunch, my friends. I just wish this had never happened. It was such a brilliant night that ended so horribly. I mean why would those men do that? It's sick.'

Matt looked at her and reached up to tug on a piece of her hair. 'The world is full of bad people, Mo. And you can't always explain why they do what they do. But, what you have to keep in mind is that, there will always be good people to save the day.'

Mo chuckled quietly and Matt grinned at her. 'And the night wasn't all terrible. I mean, you got to meat me.'

'You're so arrogant. But yeah, I suppose that's true,' Mo agreed. 'Did I ever thank you for saving my life?'

'No,' said Matt, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

'Oh, well – okay, would you stop that! You're so weird…ANYWAY, thank you Matt, for saving my life.'

Matt's grin grew softer and yet bigger at the same time. 'You're welcome, Moira O'Shea.'

Moira stayed curled up on her side and closed her eyes, feeling the cool salve that covered her bandaged knees and smelling the light rain that fell outside. And there, in the dark in a tent full of strangers she had just met, Mo fell asleep to the sound of Matt's even breathing.

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**notes:** okay, so, you can say that matt and moira seem way to close for people who have just met, but keep in mind that not only did matt save mo's life, but mo is a naturally charismatic person. she just has that personality that can endear – the right kind of – people to her very quicky. and sometimes, when you meet someone, you can bond with them very quickly, almost the instant you meet them. mo, harry and ron did, mo and hermione did, and now, mo and matt did.

i did base matt and rory a little bit on the doctor and rory williams (i got the names from them too, because i couldn't make up my mind on them) but matt is a lot…meaner, i guess, than the doctor, a lot harder in his superior intelligence than the doctor, but just as flirty and sarcastic (but only to the right people). rory is still just as funny, but he's a lot braver and more out-there than rory.

so, they're based on the doctor and rory, but not actually them - there's a lot of key differences that come into play later; their characters are very important later on, and they more than any other character (except maybe sven) will definitely be reoccurring. i've decided the study group will only be mentioned in passing and such. it's just too many oc's, and i don't quite know where they fit in my plot line anymore. anyway, yes, rory and matt will make a lot of future appearences.

but, spoilers ;)

and yes, harry and mo do get together eventually.

but not in this book.

enjoy! this was written really fast so i apologize for spelling or continuity errors.

**-natrissabellandonis**

**edited: 15/09/12**


	8. aftermaths and phone numbers

**disclaimer**: mine, actually. well, moira, her family and all future oc's belong to me. harry potter belongs to the wonderful j.k.r  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to me! cuz i'm having an awesome year so far and that's why this chapter is happy and fun. also, to reviewer number nine (you know who you are; name starts with a j…ends in a. yup, this is for you) because your review really reassured me that people are actually liking the way i'm taking the story so far. :) thanks dear.  
><strong>not<strong>**es**: so, the world cup is finally over! time for the aftermath and the rest of the summer (which shall go by in a flash). i hope you're all liking mo, and enjoying the story so far! don't worry! things will pick up soon!

**title**: by trial of fire  
><strong>summary<strong>: fire cleanses, but it also burns. moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts will be one of her most memorable yet, not only for her, but for her friends too. it's a trial of fire, and she's on the stand. Harry/OC

**.**

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**chapter seven  
>aftermaths and phone numbers<strong>

**. **

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Mo was shaken awake early the next morning by Mr. Smith, before the sun had even begun to rise into the sky. Blearily, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Matt was already up and awake, packing away his belongings into a backpack. Giving her a kind smile, Mr. Smith ducked into the other room and woke Rory, who stumbled into the main room, rubbing his eyes.

He plopped on the couch beside Mo and gave her a tired smile. 'Good morning,' he said through a yawn. 'Sleep well?'

'Pretty well, thanks,' she said, smiling faintly back.

'You're lying,' said Matt from behind the couch.

Rory and Mo both jumped and spun around. 'What?' asked Rory.

Mo looked at Matt quickly, eyes wide. Matt held her gaze for a moment, his bright hazel eyes boring into hers. 'Nothing,' he said finally. 'I coughed.'

'You did not!'

'Shut up, Rory.'

'Fine, see if I ever take you on a trip again,' said Rory.

Mo laughed and stood up off the couch, combing her hair back and straightening her clothes. Reaching down, she folded up the blanket and handed it to Mr. Smith, who quickly ushered them out of the tent. Pulling out his wand, he waved it in a wide, sweeping gesture and they all watched silently as the tent packed itself up neatly and flew into Mr. Smith's backpack, which rested on the ground at their feet.

All around them, people were scurrying quietly through the mist, whispering to their families and packing up tents as fast as they could. In the distance, Mo could make out the burned section of the field and felt her stomach turn unpleasantly.

Turning away, she came face to face with Matt, who was watching her quietly, an intense look on his face. She flinched back from the look, which softened at the fright in her eyes. He smiled brightly at her and walked over to nudge her with his shoulder.

'Buck up, Wendy. You'll be alright.'

They started to walk, and Mo fell into an easy position in between Rory and Matt. The trek to the portkey station was quick and near silent. Even Matt's blabbering from last night – which Mo took to be a trait of his – wasn't present. It was eerie, and Mo felt goose-bumps rise on her arms and legs from under her sweater and Rory's track pants.

Reaching into her pocket, she fingered her shrunken capris and the long, firm wood of her wand and relaxed minutely. As long as she had her wand on her, she was safe; safe from whatever horrors happened last night in the dark and the fire.

Soon, they came upon a harried looking wizard who was handing out port-keys to a massive crowd. His partner looked tired and drained, and had a long, thin cut on the right side of his face. Mr. Smith pulled this one aside and began talking quickly and urgently, before beckoning the kids over.

'Moira, where's your house? I can get Murray here to set the Portkey to your house first, and then take Rory, Matt and I home an hour later.'

'Oh, I'm not at home. I'm staying with a friend,' Mo said. At Mr. Smith's prompting, she told Murray the Weasley's address and watched as he tapped the old tea-cup with his wand and muttered a long string of incantations. The cup glowed bright gold before turning back to its old, faded blue.

'Right, that's set to leave in a few minutes. Best find a clear area; don't want Paths overlapping. It can cause all sorts of accidents,' said Murray, shooing them away.

The Smiths, Matt and Mo walked a few feet away, to a deserted area of mist and grass and kneeled down, taking positions around the tiny tea cup. Mo was starting to worry now. What if they thought something horrible had happened to her? What if they were looking for her right now? What if they left last night? Would they tell her parents?

'Oi, Wendy,' Matt's voice broke through the fog of her tumultuous thoughts, and she turned and gave him a weird look.

'Why are you calling me Wendy?'

'Because,' said Matt, eyes twinkling. 'You ran away with a boy who doesn't want to grow up – me, of course – and you were running from growing up. You're Wendy; a Scottish Wendy, mind you, but much better than the original. She was so very annoying, all blonde and simpering and just awful -'

On the other side of Mo, Rory rolled his eyes. 'What's he rambling about?' Moira whispered.

'This is his way of flirting,' Rory whispered back. 'It's weird as hell, but girls seem to love it. Can't see why; he sounds like a fool when he does this.'

'Oi!' said Matt in indignation. 'I can hear you, you know.'

'Right, terribly sorry,' said Rory, not sounding very sorry at all.

Mo laughed. 'Hang on, I can't be Wendy. Wendy was running away from growing up; I was running away from being killed. Those aren't the same things.'

Matt glanced at her. 'Aren't they?'

Moira stared at him, wide-eyed, as the Portkey activated and the world dissolved into a blur of colours and sounds, and the feel of Matt and Rory's shoulders umping against hers, warm and solid and there.

.

.

.

They landed hard on the ground outside the Weasley House what seemed like moments later, falling to the ground in a tangle of clothes and limbs as the tea cup clattered to the ground, inactive for sixty more minutes. Mo sat up and stared up at the rickety house, feeling a sense of home-coming wash over her. A few chickens pecked lazily in the yard, and smoke puffed quietly from the leaning chimney.

Evidently, the others were just as awed by the house as well. Matt jumped up and began blathering on about structure spells, expansion charms, quantum spell mechanics, and other things that made Mo's head spin. As Rory helped her up, the door flew open, startling the chickens, who clucked nosily in disapproval.

Mrs. Weasley came barging out of the house, looking pale and worried. The worry only grew as she saw Mo with three strangers, sitting in her driveway, and not with her husband and children.

'Moira!' the Weasley matriarch cried, drawing her into a warm, tight hug. 'Goodness, dear, are you alright! I just got the paper a few hours ago – it's awful what happened at the Cup! I've been out of my mind with worry! Are you okay? Where are the others? What happened? And -'

'Mrs. Weasley, calm down!' said Mo, her voice muffled by Mrs. Weasley's shoulder. 'To answer your questions, I'm fine, just a bit scraped, I don't know where the others are, because we got separated, I don't really know what happened, and these are my new friends, Andrew Smith and his son, Rory, and Rory's friend Matt Vowles - Matt found me in the raid-thing – whatever last night was –and brought me back to his tent because we couldn't find the others in the chaos.'

Mo took a very large breath and relaxed, only to stumble to the side when Mrs. Weasley let go of her and threw her arms around a very startled Matt. 'Oh, thank you!' she cried. 'Thank you for keeping Mo safe!'

She released him quickly and then embraced Rory and Mr. Smith, before ushering them all into the house for tea and breakfast before the Smiths' and Matt left for Rory's house. Matt fell back to where Mo was walking, looking a bit alarmed. His hair was sticking up on one side, and Mo chuckled.

'Is she always like that?' he asked incredulously.

'Pretty much, yeah,' replied Mo. 'Mrs. Weasley's the best, though. She always means well.'

'Ah. Right. Motherly instincts and all that,' said Matt. As they reached the porch, he grabbed Mo's arm and pulled her away, letting the others walk into the house, where the fresh aroma of bacon and eggs was wafting out.

'Matt, what's wrong?' she asked, looking up at him – damn boys and their growth spurts. He was looking uncharacteristically serious again.

'Do you always have such violent nightmares?' he asked softly.

Mo tensed in his grip, her mind flashing back to the pain of her dreams: skies stained red and grass blackened underfoot – smoke staining crumbling stone, people screaming, bodies piled up before mass pyres and blood, so much blood, washing over her feet and seeping into her skin. She could see it, feel it, taste it on her tongue, and it was so cold and yet so hot at the same time, but she couldn't stop to think about that because she had to run, run now before they caught her –

Arms closed around Mo and pulled her into a warm chest that smelled of firewood and very nice cologne. Mo clung to the fabric of the sweater, gasping as if she had run a marathon. A different pair of hands was pressed on her back, sheltering her from the open front yard and easing her trembling. She hadn't had a nightmare that violent in ages, since she was eight and one of her parents' colleagues had been mauled by a tiger they had thought was knocked out.

As the last vestiges from the dream melted away, embarrassment flooded her. She pulled away and found herself squished between Matt - at her front - and Rory - behind her -. They were both looking at her oddly, but with concern. Turning bright red, she broke out of their hold, stammering apologies and babbling incoherently before Rory put his hand over her mouth and shut her up.

'Relax, Mo,' he said. 'We're not going to make fun of you or something. Obviously, these nightmares really affect you, and you don't want to tell anyone about it. That's okay, we'll respect that.'

'What? No, we won't!'

THUD.

'Ow! Okay, yes, fine, we will respect your silence!' Matt grumbled, rubbing his side, where Rory's elbow had dug in. 'Because that's what friends do.'

Mo stared between the two of them, a half formed laugh tumbling from her lips. 'We're friends?' she asked.

'Well of course,' said Matt, grinning. 'You don't go through what we just went through without becoming friends.'

A nostalgic smile spread across Mo's face. 'Kind of like facing a fully grown mountain troll together,' she murmured, thinking back to the night Hermione had become friends with Harry and Ron. The night she had missed because she was in the hospital wing suffering from cluster headaches.

'Yeah,' smiled Rory. 'Kind of like that.'

.

.

.

Fifty minutes later, they were seated around the Weasley's kitchen table nursing cups of tea – or hot chocolate for Mo. Their stomachs were comfortably full, the dishes had washed themselves and the massive amount of leftovers was under warming charms for when the Weasleys finally came home with Harry and Hermione.

Mr. Smith and Mrs. Weasley were quietly talking at the head of the table while Matt, Mo and Rory engaged in a high-stakes game of cards at the other end. Mo and Matt sat across from each other, with Rory at the head. Peeking over her cards, Mo narrowed her eyes at Matt, her next victim. He was the only one that could have it; Rory absolutely failed at this game, there was no way –

'Do you?' she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He smirked at her, and she narrowed her eyes, reaching forward to draw the top card off of the deck. Sliding it across the table towards her, she lifted it up and glanced at the faded red color on the otherwise white surface –

'Ha! I win!' she cried, throwing down the two Jacks with flourish. 'And _that_, boys, is how you play Go Fish!'

Rory groaned and threw down his cards too. 'How does she do it?!' Rory whined to Matt, who was laughing hysterically and trying to drink tea at the same time. 'I've never met anyone who could play cards like that! It's insane!'

'Lots and lots of practice with my parents' colleagues,' Mo smirked and took a sip of her hot chocolate. 'It's a good way to stave off boredom when the locals don't like you and you're too young to go looking for wild tigers or rogue elephants.'

'You are the strangest girl I have ever met,' said Rory with finality. They all shared a laugh that was abruptly cut off when Mrs. Weasley leapt to her feet.

'They're home!' she cried, racing out of the kitchen. 'They're back!'

The three of them followed her out of the kitchen and onto the porch. The sun had fully risen now, casting warm light on everything it touched. Mr. Smith was standing with Mrs. Weasley, who was hugging Mr. Weasley hard and alternating between scolding him for not sending word and making sure he was okay. Then, she threw her arms around the twins, shoulders shaking.

'Ten quid she's apologizing for laying into them before we left,' Mo whispered to Rory, having had told them all about the twins and their escapades last night.

'You're on,' he whispered back, and they shook hands firmly as Mrs. Weasley stepped back and embraced each of the Weasleys – and the non-Weasleys – in bone crushing hugs.

They all looked tired and drawn; from what Mo could see, each of them had bags under their eyes and a slouch to their posture. Mo felt a pang of guilt as she spotted Harry standing beside Ron, a weak smile plastered on his face. Beside him, Ginny had Mo's backpack clutched tightly in her hands; dried tear tracks were on both Hermione and Ginny's faces, and everyone was smudged with dirt.

Mo sighed fondly. 'Bloody worry-warts, the lot of 'em. OI! GINNY!'

Ginny looked up and screamed in a mixture of shock and excitement as she saw Mo, safe and well, standing in between Matt and Rory, who smiled and waved brightly at the others. Mo grinned at the boys standing on either side of her and stepped out into the yard as her friends raced towards her. Wincing, Mo braced for impact, but couldn't escape the shriek that fell from her lips as she was hoisted up into a giant bear hug sandwich by the twins.

'I knew you hadn't died!' Fred crowed.

'Our dear Katherina is far too feisty to let a couple of Death Eaters best her!' George added happily.

'Guys, you're squishing me!' Mo gasped out, and sighed in relief as she was placed back on the ground, only to be bombarded by Ginny and Hermione.

'You're okay!' Ginny cried happily. 'What the hell happened?'

Hermione didn't even bother asking. She just pulled back and slapped Mo hard on the arm. 'Don't _ever_ do that again!' she said shrilly. 'You nearly sent us all to an early death!'

'It's not my fault, Hermione,' Mo protested over Ron's shoulder, the next person to hug her. 'I was running with you all – yes, Ron, I missed you too, but you're breaking me. What is it with you Weasleys' and your urge to break the spine of whoever you're hugging? – and I tripped and fell. When I got up, we had been separated by the crowd and I couldn't find you.'

Ron let Mo go and Harry took her place. He hugged her tightly, practically folding her into him, and she smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tip-toes to reach. 'You know, this really isn't fair,' she said idly. 'I'm one of the tallest girls in my year, and I still have to stand on my tiptoes to be as tall as you. Bloody boys and your growth spurts.'

'Are you okay?' he asked seriously, holding her at arm's length.

'Oh, I'm fine!' she said, waving him off. 'Matt found me and when we couldn't find the tent, he brought me back to his, and I stayed the night on the couch. Nothing bad happened.'

'I saved her life when a Death Eater tried to kill her,' Matt said cheerfully from behind her. 'And Rory patched up her knees; she made a right mess out of them.'

Her friends all turned to her, eyes narrowed dangerously. Mo ran from Harry and hid behind Rory. 'In case you hadn't noticed, Matt, I was trying _not_ to tell them about that little detail!' she hissed, eyeing her scowling friends warily. 'They're going to kill me now, thanks to you.'

'No problem!' he winked and she growled at him.

'Boys!' Mr. Smith suddenly called. 'Let's go! The portkey's almost ready!'

'Well, that's our cue! Good-bye all, nice meeting you,' Matt walked off, whistling a merry tune, and dragging Rory along, who shouted good-byes.

'Wait! I'll come see you off!' Mo raced after them and thanked Merlin and God and whoever was listening that her friends didn't follow.

'Thank you for everything you've done,' Mo said to Mr. Smith. 'And thank you, Rory, for being a great Doctor. Just don't ever go into a profession that involves cards; you're rubbish at it. I'll see you at school, yeah?'

'Yeah,' Rory laughed, 'Promise me you'll teach me how to play cards when we get to school?'

'I promise!'

They hugged briefly, old friends after only twelve hours together, possibly less. As he moved back a bit, Matt shifted and stood in front of her, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were sparkling mischievously from under his floppy fringe, and a small half-smile was pasted on his lips.

'Well,' she said awkwardly.

'Well.' Matt grinned now, a beaming smile that made Mo start smiling too. He grasped her shoulders firmly and held her at arm's length, appraising her. 'Moira O'Shea. I'm going to miss you – and I don't say that to just anyone, especially not someone I've known for all of twelve hours.'

'It's true!' Rory added. 'He doesn't!'

Matt rolled his eyes and Mo laughed. 'Oh, c'mere you.' She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, feeling him smiling against her neck.

'Promise me you'll write? And talk to me at school, no matter what House you're in,' she scolded playfully. Despite her best efforts last night, neither boy would tell her what house he was in, even though she had told them immediately that she was a Gryffindor.

'Even if I'm in Slytherin?' Matt teased.

'Yes,' she said firmly. 'Even if you're a Slytherin. Which you're not; you're too – kind, to be a Slytherin. Oh! Wait, do you have a pen and paper?'

Rory fished into his bag and pulled out a self-inking quill and a piece of parchment. Hurriedly, Mo scribbled down her phone number, her cell number, her address, and the Weasley address twice. Tearing the paper in two, she handed one to Matt and one to Rory.

'I forgot I hadn't given you my information yet,' she said sheepishly. 'Would have made it pretty impossible to write to me without that. That has this address, my cell number, my home phone number and my home address. You guys do know how to use cell phones, yeah?'

'Course we do,' said Rory. 'I'm a half-blood and Matt's Muggle-born. Here, I'll give you ours as well.'

Pulling out another piece of parchment, Rory wrote down his contact info, and then handed it to Matt so he could write his as well. Giving it to Mo, Rory packed away the quill and stepped back to give her and Matt a bit of privacy.

Matt smiled and kissed her cheek. 'Take care, Wendy.'

Blushing, Mo smiled. 'Take care yourself, Peter.'

The two boys walked a few feet away to stand with Mr. Smith. Placing a finger on the tea cup, they both waved as a wind stirred up and they vanished from sight, as if they had never really even there in the first place.

Mo stared at the place they had been, absently touching the cheek that Matt had kissed and clutching the parchment tightly to her chest. When she turned around, she found herself face to face with a group of annoyed friends. She swallowed hard and chuckled weakly. 'Um...hello? Oh, bugger it all. I'm screwed aren't I?'

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The morning before the Hogwarts Express left dawned cold and rainy. The Weasley Clan, Hermione, Harry and Mo were all gathered in the living room in front of the lit fireplace. Fred and George were whispering in a corner about something or other, and Ginny was playing chess with Ron in front of the fire. On the chair beside them, Hermione had her nose buried in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_ that Mrs. Weasley had picked up for them, and was alternating between reading and sneakily glancing at Ron and Ginny's chess game every so often. Harry was on the couch with Mo, reading a book about advanced Quidditch moves that Mo had gotten him for his birthday.

Mo was sprawled out beside Harry in leggings and a large red sweater, a cutting board propped up on her lap as she penned a letter to Matt. Rory's letter was already finished and sitting on the cluttered table behind her, ready for Jareth to carry them off. The three of them had been texting sporadically back and forth, as well as penning letters, for the past two weeks. While Mo didn't mind writing letters, she preferred texting – it was the one thing she loved about the Muggle world. Beautiful, wonderful technology.

But her phone was silent now, and letters didn't piss off her friends with the constant clacking of keys and the wind-chime sounds of her ring tone. It was quieter in the house than it had been earlier in the month. The excitement of summer was wearing out, and the drudgery of school was starting to set in.

'I hope Arthur gets off early today,' said Mrs. Weasley from her position beside Bill. 'They've been working him far too hard lately.'

'Well, I suspect father feels he must make up for his mistake, doesn't he?' said Percy. 'If he hadn't opened his mouth, the Ministry wouldn't be flooded with Howlers right now. Mr. Crouch is beside himself; he cares very much about the public, you know. Most especially, he cares what the public thinks of his actions; he always tries to do the best for the citizens of Britain, and they do not even notice.'

'No one cares, idiot,' Mo called, not looking up from her writing. 'Shut up, I'm trying to write.'

Percy puffed up indignantly. 'Now, see here –'

He was cut off as a pillow collided with his face and knocked him to the floor. Mrs. Weasley hid her laughter behind her hand, but the others had no such qualms. The whole room burst into laughter, doing exactly what Mo had hoped her actions would do – relieve the tension that had settled in the room like a fog.

'Now Mo, dear that wasn't very nice,' Mrs. Weasley coughed as Percy climbed back into his chair, looking very much like a pigeon with its feathers ruffled.

'He deserved it, Mum,' said Charlie, who was darning a fireproof balaclava. 'No offense, Perce, but no one wants to hear you rail into Dad. Or about Mr. Crouch either. What he did to that elf was cruel and wrong, and you know it. So please, stop being a kiss-ass.'

Percy turned bright red and slunk down a bit in his seat. Mo felt a bit sorry for him, but then remembered how much of a pompous arse he usually was, and didn't feel sorry anymore. Especially because he was sticking up for that arsehole, Barty Crouch. The others had filled her in on what she had missed during her night with Matt, Rory and Mr. Smith – after they had railed into her, of course.

The Weasleys had explained to her what Death Eaters were – with many hissings of Ron to stop saying Voldemort's name – and that the Dark Mark had been cast into the sky by someone using Harry's wand – someone who Crouch had believed to be Winky, since she had been found with the wand in her possession.

Mo had snorted, called the whole thing a load of bullock and promptly put Crouch on her list of People Who Need a Good Kick up the Arse. Ron had then received one when he commented on how many lists she had, and how she was akin to an old lady in that sense.

Finishing her letter to Matt with flourish, she folded up the letter and slid it into an envelope. During the summer, Mo preferred to use Muggle pens, just because it made writing letters and stuff so much faster since she didn't need to wait for the ink to dry. She did love using quills, though. There was just something so…magical and medieval about them.

Setting down the cutting board, she dug her toes underneath Harry's thigh for warmth and snuggled into the soft, worn cushions for a small cat-nap. That idea was thrown out the window when Mr. Weasley arrived, soaking wet and going on about how some idiot journalist named Rita Skeeter was trying to find a story, and something about a woman named Bertha Jorkins, who had apparently gone missing.

'I told Bagman he should have sent someone out after her ages ago!' Mr. Weasley said vehemently, sitting down in front of the fire as Mrs. Weasley brought him a tray of food.

'Mr. Crouch has been saying that for weeks,' Percy said.

'No one cares,' called Mo. Percy scowled at her.

'That may be true, Moira, but I think Crouch is just lucky no one's found out about Winky yet,' Mr. Weasley said. 'There'd be headlines for weeks if Skeeter found out his elf was found holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark.'

'Why? He deserves the shame for what he did to that poor elf,' Hermione said.

'I thought we agreed that the elf didn't conjure the mark, and was merely irresponsible. And Mr. Crouch deserves nothing but unswerving loyalty from his servants after all he's done for this country!' Percy cut in hotly. 'Furthermore –'

'Furthermore, no one gives a crap Perce, so I suggest you shut your face before Hermione has a conniption,' said Mo. Hermione was looking very red in the face, her eyes narrowed dangerously. 'Although it would be funny to see Hermione chasing you with a baseball bat, so by all means, continue. I could use some entertainment.'

'Why don't you all go make sure you've packed?!' Mrs. Weasley cut in. 'Come on, off you trot!'

Mo let her head flop back on the arm rest of the couch and groaned comically. 'All the bones in my body have liquefied. I can't move.'

Ron poked her side, making her jump and squeal. 'You can move. Get up before Percy bites your head off.'

Mo glared at him. 'Voldemort.'

Ron went white and flinched. 'Don't say his name!' he hissed. 'Merlin, how many times do I have to tell you? Harry's been a bad influence on you.'

'Don't pull me into this,' Harry protested as they trooped up the stairs. 'I'm innocent.'

'Yeah, sure. And Snape washes his hair twice daily,' Ron snorted. 'Oi, you lot, come up to my room after you're done.'

'Sure!' said Ginny.

'Not you,' Ron said. 'Just Bones and Hermione. No little sisters allowed.'

Ginny glared at him and tossed her hair over her shoulder. 'Fine; see if I care, you numpty.'

'That's my insult,' said Mo with amusement.

'Shut up; it's mine now,' said Ginny.

Entering Ginny's room, the girls busied themselves with making sure everything was folded and in order. Books and trinkets were tucked away, trunks were locked and animal cages were cleaned out. When they finished, Ginny headed downstairs to bug Fred and George, and Mo and Hermione headed up to Ron's room, which was right below the attic.

The rain sounded even louder from up here, and was accompanied by the moaning and clanking made by the ghoul that lived in the attic above Ron's bedroom. Harry and Ron were sorting through parcels on their beds; while Hermione sat primly on the edge of Ron's bed, Mo threw herself down on Harry's, making it bounce as she pulled his pillow towards her and propped her chin up on it.

'Thanks, Mo,' said Harry dryly, picking up packages that had fallen off the bed.

'You're welcome!' she smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes at her and continued packing away his parcels. 'Hey, Ron,' he said, glancing over to Hedwig's empty cage. 'Do you think Sirius is alright? I mean, you don't think he's been caught?'

'Course not,' said Ron easily, stuffing his books into his cauldron. 'It would've been all over the Prophet if he had.'

'He's probably far away from here, Harry,' said Hermione reasonably. 'Plus, it's probably taking Hedwig a long time to find him. He is in hiding after all. If he was easy to find, he'd have been caught a long time ago.'

Suddenly, Ron made a noise like a trodden-on bird. They all whipped round to find him holding up what appeared to be a mouldy maroon, lacy-looking dress with matching lace cuffs and a bonnet. 'What the bloody hell is that supposed to be?' he cried.

'Here you are,' said Mrs. Weasley, coming into the room carrying freshly laundered Hogwarts robes. 'Pack them properly you don't want them to crease.'

'Mum, you've given me Ginny's new dress,' said Ron, holding out the velvet monstrosity to his mother.

'They're not for Ginny, they're for you,' said Mrs. Weasley.

Mo and Hermione collapsed into hysterical giggles as Ron looked at his mother, horror-struck. 'What?'

'Dress robes,' Mrs. Weasley explained. 'Robes for formal occasions. Your school list said you needed them this year.'

'I am not wearing this!' said Ron stubbornly. 'I'd look like Great Aunt Tessie!'

'It's not so bad. Harry has them too, you know,' said Mrs. Weasley.

Mo snorted with true laughter as Harry gingerly opened the last parcel on his camp bed, acting like he was handling a very volatile bomb. He breathed a visible sigh of relief as he held up a pair of black robes and what appeared to be clothes akin to a Muggle tuxedo.

'Well, they're alright!' said Ron. 'No lace; no weird dead cat smell. I'll go starkers before I wear that thing.' He scowled at the maroon thing on his bed.

Mrs. Weasley flushed and glared at her youngest son. 'Fine, go naked then. Moira, Hermione, make sure you get pictures. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh.'

She walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Furious, Ron strode over to unstick his little owl Pig's beak from where it was choking on an over-large owl treat. 'Don't worry Ron,' said Mo in what she hoped was a comforting voice. 'I can get Parvati and Lavender to help hem and – erm – modify the robes. They're quite good at stuff like this.'

'Thanks Bones,' grumbled Ron, 'but I really don't think it's going to help. The thing's probably possessed by the soul of the poor sap who wore it last.'

'The look of absolute revulsion he gave the robes sent Mo into hysterics again, and she didn't stop laughing for a long, long time.

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**notes:** well, chapter seven is done! did you all like the interactions between our new oc's, mo, and her friends? i am really enjoying writing this, and i hope you enjoy reading this too! i know this seems pretty canon so far, but trust me, it's going to get really good soon, once we get to Hogwarts and events start happening.

but, spoilers ;)

if you see any errors, let me know and i'll correct them. this is unbetaed so i did my best. and yes, i know they didn't really have cells back in the nineties, but i'm writing about what i know instead of guessing, so i apologize if there are people out there who dislike temporal-continuity screw ups and overlaps, but, this is what i can write well, and therefore is what i will write.

-**natrissabelladonis**


	9. by car and train, to hogwarts again

**disclaimer**: mine, actually. well, moira, her family and all future oc's belong to me. harry potter belongs to the wonderful j.k.r  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to everyone who's out there and has that one really crazy best friend you're kind-of-sort-of-secrety-married-to, or to those who just have that best friend you can clown around with and tell everything to you and who you love but aren't _in_ love with. cheers my loves! :)  
><strong>not<strong>**es**: weeeeee're off to hogwarts school! the wonderful school of witchcraft and wizardryyyyy! i am so so sorry! i have been so bogged down with schoolwork and swimming and also _**i am in university ohmifuckinggod. who was the idiot who decided to let me in? **_ps i made Hogwarts larger i guess? like i know that hogwarts holds about 1000 students thanks to the wonderful jkr and various behind the scenes websites, but i made it…well significantly bigger. more like a college….or a small town. more than 1000 anyway hehe…he

_**edit: I AM DONE FIRST YEAR WHAAAAAT *unprepared for the real world***_

**title**: by trial of fire  
><strong>summary<strong>: fire cleanses, but it also burns. moira o'shea's fourth year at hogwarts will be one of her most memorable yet, not only for her, but for her friends too. it's a trial of fire, and she's on the stand. Harry/OC

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**chapter eight  
><strong>

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September the first dawned as bleak and windy as the day before. Dark grey clouds covered the sky and large, fat raindrops poured down upon the Burrow in buckets, turning the front yard into a mud bath and instantly drenching anyone who dared venture out in the storm.

The inside of the Weasley house was a veritable beehive of activity. People pounded up and down the stairs, half-dressed and with bits of toast hanging out of their mouths as they rushed about for the last minute packing they had neglected last night. Mo, stepping out of Ginny's room with her neatly (except not really) packed trunk, was almost barreled over by Ron as he charged up the stairs with a pile of socks.

'Sorry Bones!' he cried as he raced past.

'It's fine,' Mo said to the empty stairwell. 'It's not like I was going somewhere or anything.'

After tripping several times over laundry, stacks of books and her own feet, Mo finally made it down to the bottom floor, and parked her trunk and Jareth's cage by the front door. Nursing her newly bruised knee – a result of a run in with Crookshanks on the stairs – Mo wandered into the kitchen to see if she could get something to eat.

Mrs. Weasley was bustling around the kitchen, shoving toast and strips of bacon onto everyone that passed through. 'All packed dear?' she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Mo.

'Yes, Mrs. Weasley,' said Mo, sliding into a seat and gratefully accepting the plate of bacon, eggs, sausage and toast Mrs. Weasley offered her. 'Ginny and Hermione are all packed too. They should be down soon; they were just getting ready when I left.'

'Hermione did your hair, didn't she?' Mrs. Weasley observed. 'Goodness knows Ginny doesn't know how to do anything but throw her hair into a ponytail.'

'Yeah, Hermione's surprisingly good at this, what with all her claiming not to be a girly girl and stuff,' said Mo, touching the long braid that dropped over her shoulder with her free hand.

Hermione _was_ surprisingly good at it; the braid was neatly done and started from the crown of her head. It was also loose enough to keep her hair out of her face without pulling at her skin.

'It looks lovely, dear.'

'Thank you!'

Ginny and Hermione wandered into the kitchen a minute later, accepting their plates of food and sitting across from Mo. Hermione had her hair up in a messy bun, the ornate blue Chinese chopsticks Mo had bought her for Christmas last year pinned through the mass. Ginny had opted to just leave her hair down.

Mo swallowed her food and pointed her fork at Hermione. 'Nice chopsticks,' she grinned.

'Thank you, I rather like them myself,' said Hermione, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips.

As Hermione and Ginny dove into their breakfasts, Mo propped her chin in her hand and stared absently out the window, humming under her breath. She'd be seeing Matt and Rory again soon. It had been a long two weeks starved of information, and Mo was ready to win her bet against Ron. The red head had bet that Matt was a Ravenclaw and Rory was a Hufflepuff; Mo was betting they were both Hufflepuffs.

She wondered what Matt and Rory would look like now. They had seemed like amazing blokes, and Mo wanted the chance to get to know them better. It wasn't that she felt left out of the Golden Trio formed by Harry, Ron and Hermione…but she did. Those three had been through things that she hadn't been present for, the troll incident that cemented their friendship being one of them.

Don't get her wrong, she felt loved and wanted by every one of them, and she loved them dearly in return. But there was a part of their friendship Mo could never touch, and sometimes she got lonely when it seemed like she was always going to be on the outside looking in. This happened a lot in second year, and was the main reason she bonded so well with Ginny. But Ginny had her own friends, as did Mo but…

Mo wanted what Harry, Ron and Hermione had – and maybe she could find that with Rory and Matt.

Silence fell in the kitchen as each woman became immersed in her thoughts, the quiet only broken by the gentle clinking of plates as Mrs. Weasley washed the breakfast dishes and eyed the plates of food for the men of the house – safely protected under warming charms – and Mo hummed whatever song was stuck in her head this time.

There was a clatter from the stairs and the boys burst into the kitchen, breathing hard and red-faced. Mo arched an eyebrow at them, snorting at Harry and Ron in particular, both of who looked like they had been through a windstorm. 'Finished packing, boys?' she asked sarcastically.

'It's not our fault that we're not as finicky as you girls,' huffed Harry, sliding into a seat next to Mo. 'Besides, we prefer the adrenaline rush of last-minute packing.'

'Oh, like you don't get enough adrenaline rushes during the school year?' Mo slapped away Harry's hand as he reached for her last strip of bacon. 'Hey, paws off, Potter.'

'You wound me,' Harry said, laughing when Ron stole the bacon out from under Mo's noise, making her shriek in indignation.

'You deserve it,' she hissed, stabbing Ron's hand with her fork when he reached for her sausages. 'Piss off, Ron!'

'Language, Moira,' said Hermione, who was reading one of their new textbooks. Mo and Ginny gave her weird looks.

'Where did you get that book?' asked Ginny. 'That wasn't there a second ago.'

'Yes, it was,' said Hermione calmly.

'No, seriously, where did you get it?'

'She pulled it out of her arse,' said Mo cheerily as she stole Ron's bacon. When he tried to steal it back, she waved her fork threateningly at him, making him draw back and rub his hand sullenly.

'Whipped,' Fred coughed into his coffee, and yelped when Mo threw a piece of toast at his head.

'No food fights, dear,' Mrs. Weasley chided, 'Unless you want to clean up the mess.'

Mo blushed. 'Sorry Mrs. Weasley.'

Harry's snickers were cut off by Ginny's foot making sharp contact with his shin. He scowled at the red-head, who high-fived Mo for their fantastic tag-teaming. Hermione smirked, but kept her eyes on her book as she docilely sipped her orange juice.

'Girls,' Ron muttered to Harry, who nodded empathetically in agreement. 'They're all bonkers.'

Mo smacked him over the head.

'OW! GODDAMNIT, WOMAN!'

'Language!'

'Sorry Mum.'

At that moment, the fireplace in the living room flared bright green. The entire table stopped and stared in surprise as a head appeared in the fireplace. Mo blinked hard. Amos Diggory's mug was sitting comfortably in the coals of the Weasley's fireplace, not a care in the world for the sparks licking at his beard. It was a bit disconcerting.

'Um…Mrs. Weasley?' said Mo. 'There's a head in your fireplace.'

Mrs. Weasley spun around and dropped her spatula. 'Arthur!' she yelled loudly, turning back around to rummage in the drawers. 'Arthur, there's a message from the Ministry!'

There was a bang and a muffled curse, followed by several loud thudding sounds. Mr. Weasley ran through the kitchen, robes on backwards, and bee-lined for the fireplace; he snatched the proffered quill and parchment from Mrs. Weasley as he passed.

The moment Mr. Weasley entered his line of sight; Diggory began talking very quickly about some disturbance that had occurred at some bloke's place.

'-dust bins all a-flutter, racketing around and creating a right mess,' Diggory was saying. 'The Muggle neighbours went and called the – oh, what are they called – please-men-'

Mo dissolved into snickers at those words, and Harry arched an eyebrow at her. 'Are you alright?' he asked her.

She waved her hand at him, trying to control her giggles. 'It's just…please-men…it sounds like he's saying the police were strippers. _Please-men. Pleasure men._' She started laughing again, Hermione following shortly after.

Harry shook his head. 'You have a dirty mind, O'Shea.'

'Can it, Potter. Let me enjoy my wicked sense of humor in peace.'

'What are strippers?' Fred asked.

Mo stopped laughing abruptly. 'You…don't know what strippers are?' she asked in disbelief.

'Uh, obviously not, or he wouldn't be asking,' said Ron crossly.

'Doesn't the wizarding world have strippers?' Mo asked Hermione, the source of all knowledge that Mo didn't already know.

'I don't know,' said Hermione. 'I'd assume they do, but they're probably called something different.'

'Ah. Well Ronnie-kins, strippers are like…professional erotic dancers. They usually perform choreographed stripteases at clubs and events. It means they dance, sometimes end up completely starkers at the end, and they make their money that way,' Mo explained.

Nearly everyone at the table save Hermione and Mo went bright red. Mo rolled her eyes. 'You all are so sheltered, honestly.'

'Oh, and you've seen a male stripper?' Ron demanded; voice suspiciously high.

Mo snorted. 'God no; I'm underage. But I have met some.'

'How?' George yelped.

'I travelled with my parents for years, remember? Sometimes we didn't stay in the best spots; I, being the inevitably curious child that I was, ended up exploring a lot and as a result have met quite a few dancers. They're very nice – both the guys and the girls.'

'What, they just…walk around on the streets?' Ron asked.

Hermione levelled a look at him. 'Just because their careers involve erotic dancing and nudity doesn't make them less of a person.'

The conversation ended there, and Mo, bored with the topic, tuned back in to Mr. Diggory.

'- it was a real stroke of luck I heard about it,' he was saying. 'I came into the office early to send off a couple of owls and ran across the Improper Use of Magic lot all about to set off – Merlin, if Rita Skeeter gets a hold of this one, Arthur, we're doomed –'

'What does Mad-Eye say happened?' asked Mr. Weasley, unscrewing the lid of the bottle of ink Mrs. Weasley had just handed him.

_Who's Mad-Eye?_ Mo mouthed to Harry. He shrugged.

Mr. Diggory rolled his eyes and somehow managed to roll his entire head in the process. 'He claims he heard an intruder in his yard, creeping towards the house before they were ambushed by his dustbins.'

Mr. Weasley hmmed and scribbled rapidly. 'And what did the dustbins do?'

'They made lot of noise and a hell of a huge mess. One of them was still firing about when the please-men showed up -'

Mr. Weasley groaned. 'What about the intruder?'

'Who knows,' said Mr. Diggory. 'Mad-eye thinks everyone's a criminal these days. Could have just been the wind blowing debris about. But Arthur, you have to do something. If the Improper Use of Magic blokes get a hold of him, he's done for – think of his record – we have to get him on something, some minor charge from your department. How much are exploding dust-bins worth?'

Mr. Weasley was still writing very fast. 'He might get off on a caution. But he didn't use his wand or anything?'

'He probably leapt out of bed and started cursing everything in sight,' Mr. Diggory snorted. 'They'll have a hell of a job proving it, though.'

Mr. Weasley uncurled from the floor and stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket. 'All right, I'm off,' he said as he dashed out of the kitchen again.

'I'm sorry for bothering you so early and everything, Molly,' said Mr. Diggory, looking up at the Weasley matriarch. 'It's just Arthur is the only one who can get Mad-Eye off. And Mad-Eye's supposed to start his new job today, too.'

'It's alright, Amos,' said Mrs. Weasley. 'Would you like some toast before you go?'

'Oh, go on then,' he said jovially, and Mrs. Weasley knelt down, put a piece of buttered toast in the fire tongs and transferred it into Mr. Diggory's mouth. He gave muffled thanks and disappeared in a roar of green fire just as Mr. Weasley re-entered the kitchen.

'Are you going to be alright taking the kids to King's Cross by yourself?' he asked Molly as he prepared to Disapparate.

'I'll be fine,' she waved him off. 'You just take care of Mad-Eye.'

He kissed her cheek and Disapparated with a sharp crack. Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen a moment later.

'Did someone say Mad-Eye?' Bill asked as he helped himself to some food. 'What happened now?'

'Big disturbance over at his place,' Mrs. Weasley said. 'He claims someone tried to break into his house last night.'

'Hey, isn't Mad-Eye Moody that nutter who –' George began, but Mrs. Weasley cut him off as she slammed a pan down on the stove, making him jump a bit and sending his knife, laden with marmalade, clattering to the table.

'Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody,' she said severely. George despondently picked up his knife and sent a petulant frown in his mother's direction, mourning his lost marmalade. 'You'd best watch what you say about him around your father. Arthur won't stand for it.'

'Yeah, well Dad also collects plugs doesn't he?' whispered Fred to Mo as he leaned towards her to grab the jam. 'Birds of a feather…'

Mo snorted into her milk. Bill was thoughtful as he bit into a sausage. 'I heard Moody was an amazing wizard in his prime. One of the best there ever was.'

'Isn't he an old friend of Dumbledore's?' Charlie asked.

'What a great track record Moody's got so far,' Fred joked. 'Dad thinks highly of him, _and_ he's an old friend of Dumbledore's. Maybe they're all in a cult: Muggles, Knitting and Nutters United; spreading unorthodox genius one spark plug at a time.'

Mrs. Weasley frowned at Fred as the table roared with laughter. Mo strained to get her voice heard over the din. 'Who's Mad-Eye? And what's an Auror?'

'An Auror is a dark wizard catcher,' Charlie explained. 'Moody's retired now, but he was one of the best. At least half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He was a huge asset during the First War, but he made himself a lot of enemies, both in the Ministry and with You-Know-Who's forces. Apparently, he's become really paranoid in his age; sees Dark Wizards everywhere.'

As breakfast was cleared and trunks double checked, Bill and Charlie invited themselves along to Kings Cross. Percy apologized profusely, but claimed that he had to get to work. 'Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me now, especially with that embarrassment at the World Cup with his elf,' sniffed Percy. 'I just cannot afford to take time off.'

'Thank god for small miracles,' Mo muttered to Ginny, who snickered.

'Merlin, you're at the office so often I reckon he'll know your name soon, Perce,' said George seriously.

Percy went pink and Mo high-fived George. 'Enjoy school,' he said imperiously, ignoring Fred, George and Mo's loud call of "So long, Weatherby!" as he Disapparated on the spot.

Mo used the phone in the post office in the village to order three cabs to take them to London instead of Mrs. Weasley. She stepped up after seeing the poor woman eyeing the phone in mild confusion.

'Arthur tried to get Ministry cars for us again,' Mrs. Weasley was saying to Harry as Mo came back out onto the rain-washed streets after using the loo. The taxi drivers were now trying to load six heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars, and not looking too happy about it. 'But there were simply none available…oh dear, they don't look very happy do they?'

'Uh…nope,' said Mo. Quite obviously, the taxi drivers weren't used to transporting over-excited owls, like Pig, who was making a bloody awful racket. It also didn't help that Fred's trunk sprang open and several of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous No Heat, Wet Start Fireworks went off, scaring one of the drivers and causing Crookshanks to go ballistic, clawing his way up the man's legs and spitting like a possessed demon.

All in all, Mo was fiercely glad she ended up in a car with Fred, George and Ginny, and not with Ron, Harry, Hermione and Hermione's demonic cat.

It was raining heavily as they all spilled out, one uncomfortable ride later, onto the entrance to King's Cross. Hermione, Ron and Harry looked quite scratched up when they exited their car, and they gave Mo sour looks as she wiggled her fingers at them and gave a shit-eating grin, before going to find a cart.

Sometimes, it was good to be her.

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.

.

Mo, Harry, Hermione and Ron ended up stowing their things halfway down the train before they hopped back out to say goodbye to Bill, Charlie and Mrs. Weasley. The platform was crowded and it was near impossible to see anything that wasn't four feet in front of you, but Mo didn't care. She hopped up on her tiptoes, craning her neck to see over the crowd.

Hermione snorted. 'Mo, you're not going to find them in this mess. Wait until we get on the train.'

Mo harrumphed stuck her tongue out at Hermione, who rolled her eyes. As they approached Bill, Charlie and Mrs. Weasley, they heard Bill mention that they might be seeing each other again sooner than Fred thought.

'Why?' Mo asked. 'What's going on?'

'Almost makes me wish I was back at Hogwarts,' said Charlie, stuffing his hands in his pockets and grinning ruefully at the train. 'You lot are going to have an exciting year.'

'Why?' demanded the Twins. 'What aren't you telling us?'

Bill tapped the side of his nose and hugged Ginny good-bye. 'I'm sure you'll find out at school.'

The whistle blew just then, and Mrs. Weasley ushered them all onto the train. Fred swung round and poked his head out the window, followed by George and Mo. 'What are you hiding?' Fred asked keenly.

'I suspect you'll find out tonight,' said Mrs. Weasley. 'It should be very exciting. I'm glad they changed the rules though –'

'What rules?' called Ron from behind them. 'Rules for what?'

'Bill!' Mo yelled over the hissing of the pistons. 'Tell us! What rules?'

When he only smiled and shook his head, Mo growled. 'That's it! You lose brownie points for this! You are no longer my favourite Weasley!'

The train began to pull away, and before they had rounded the corner, Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Charlie had all Disapparated. Mo pulled her head back in from the window and turned to see Fred and George giving her wounded looks. She huffed. 'Oh bugger off, you two know you're my favourites. Go terrorize Lee or something.'

Dropping kisses on her cheeks, the twins vanished into the hubbub of the hallway. Ron arched an eyebrow at her – Ginny had already disappeared to parts unknown. 'What?' asked Mo.

'They're your favourites?' said Ron.

Mo put her hands on Ron's shoulders. 'Ron. Ronald. Flower of my heart. Apple of my eye. You know I love you, right?'

Ron went a bit pink and shrugged her hands off. 'Sap,' he mumbled.

'You love me for it!' Mo smiled. 'Now, I'm off to find my mates. I'll see you soon!'

She began to walk away, only to hear Harry call out to her. 'I thought I was your favourite, O'Shea?'

'You're my favourite non-Weasley!' her reply came floating back, and Harry grinned.

Ron and Hermione gave him knowing looks. Harry stared at them. 'What?'

'Nothing,' said Hermione airily. She and Ron turned back towards the compartment, Harry trailing along behind them, completely bewildered.

'No seriously – what?'

.

.

.

Mo weaved through the chaos of the train, ducking under arms passing luggage into compartments and grinning at the excited chattering of the first years that she passed. The train rides back to Hogwarts – back home – had always been one of her favourite parts of the year. The excitement of going back to Hogwarts, the joy at seeing old friends; it was one of the best feelings Mo had ever had.

She had gotten half-way down the train when she spotted Rory leaning against the wall. He was already dressed in his robes, a Prefect badge pinned to his chest. He looked tanned and fit, and Mo felt butterflies of excitement bubble up in her stomach.

'Rory!' she yelled, waving when he turned and flashed a grin.

'Mo!' he called once she was within earshot. 'How are you?'

'I'm great!' she said, hugging him firmly. 'Also, I cannot believe neither Ron nor I correctly guessed which houses you and Matt were in!'

Rory looked amused. 'You had a bet going on didn't you?'

'Obviously I had a bet! And I lost! On the bright side, Ron lost too, so I feel better about myself.'

'I'm sure you do; c'mon, Matt's through here. Don't mind his latest flavour of the week. He hasn't seen Brad in a while.'

Mo glanced at him in surprise. 'Matt has flavours of the week?'

Rory snorted, navigating them through the thinning crowds towards the front of the train, nodding to fellow Ravenclaws as they passed. 'Not really; I just like to call them that. He has hook-ups, but I have been assured – in graphic detail, many times – that it is safe and consensual so there's that.'

'Eh, go Matt. Honestly he didn't strike me as the type to have one night stands. Then again, he does tend to have an ego that needs to be stroked often.'

Rory laughed and pulled open the door to their compartment, where Matt and a broad-shouldered guy with sandy-blonde hair were sitting. Neither of them had their school robes on yet, but Brad (for Mo assumed that the guy Matt had obviously just been snogging was the infamous Brad) had a Gryffindor sweater on.

Matt gave her a small grin as she sat down beside Rory. 'Ah, the infamous Wendy returns from Neverland.'

Mo rolled her eyes as Brad laughed. 'Ignore him. My name's Moira O'Shea, it's nice to meet you!'

'Brad Stokke,' he said. He had a pleasant Russian accent and very nice blue eyes. 'I've heard a lot about you, it's nice to finally put a face to the name!'

The four of them spent the rest of the ride exchanging information and talking about the Scottish rugby team, a personal favourite of Mo and Brad's. The late summer sun warmed the compartment and snacks passed freely between them. Eventually, Brad left to go change into his robes, and Mo left shortly after to reunite with Harry, Ron and Hermione, promising to see them at the feast. Matt gave her a distracted farewell as he pulled his green and silver tie over his head, while Rory – ever the gentleman – hugged her and promised they would all hang out again soon.

It's a promise Mo would _definitely_ be keeping.

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**notes: **god it has been so FREAKING LONG SINCE I HAVE UPDATED. i apologize immensely for the hiatus. i kind of lost my will to write this, and then university and work and LIFE snuck up and just…yea. very sorry. but i kind of know what headway i want to make with my plot now, so hopefully semi-regular updates shall begin! this is totally unbetaed, but please enjoy anyway! if you see any mistakes or continuity errors, please point them out and i will correct them!

**-natrissabelladonis**


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